


Red Rover, Red Rover

by Enmuse (Scifiroots)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes After Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Civil War Fix-It, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective FRIDAY, Protective Tony Stark, Responsibility, Sleep Deprivation, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs Sleep, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scifiroots/pseuds/Enmuse
Summary: What if Tony and Bucky met after CATWS? What if the CACW bad guys were really the bad guys?"But Buck's… He's all that's left."And isn't that a punch in the gut. Of course Steve would run off half-cocked, chasing down the last person connecting to his old life. Peggy's gone. Freshly buried.He couldn't make it there, what with the damned conflicting timing of political events requiring his presence; he doesn't have enough power or standing to force a reschedule.Was it even worth it?he wonders. The bombing derailed the opening ceremony regarding the Accords and now it's on hold as the investigation begins and the United Nations regains its feet and sorts out its priorities. Ross is breathing down Tony's neck. James is on the run, Friday's sorting through more data than she's ever handled, and Tony's stuckhere.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This all began with two scenes (the first two of the story) popping into my head last October. I had no heading for it, just some words slapped onto a page and a lingering thought of "Tony found and met Bucky before CACW." I finally gained a sense of direction for the story in recent months, and I'm ready to share it.
> 
> Full disclosure: still not quite done (~26k and counting) and IRL is very complicated for the next several months. However, this is the project I'm dedicating myself to until it's finished, and I do know how it's gonna end (in general).
> 
> I still hate CACW with a passion, why am I trying to do anything with it?! I just have to give in to the muses. Sort of canon rewrite, but I'm veering off whenever I want to. I'm not utilizing the stupid "sides" that TPTB pitched to us, but I will note that there is Steve-critical content and an obvious "enmuse's-fav-character-is-Tony" vibe. Rest assured, the bad guys are _the bad guys_ , not the supers we know and love.

James feels the vibration of the cellphone before it rings. He keeps the polite smile on his face as he accepts the bag of plums from the vendor. Making an effort not to look like he's hurrying, James pulls out the phone as he weaves through the crowd — never straight, never directly towards his destination.

"Did you do this?" comes the voice over the line.

James doesn't pause, though a pulse of cold anxiety shoots through him at the tension in that voice. "What?"

A quiet ping lets him know to pull the phone away and look at the screen. He nearly stumbles when he sees his own profile on the screen. It's a still capture from a security feed. A moment later, the image is followed by a news report covering the bombing of the United Nations building in Vienna.

"I didn't," James rasps into the phone when he's able to bring it back to his ear. His scanning gaze takes on a more intent purpose.

"Any recent missing time episodes?" the other prompts him.

"No. You know where I am. I haven't left. It's been— it was quiet."

There's a pause on the other end. Finally James hears a shaky sigh. "Yeah. I know. You need to leave, now. There's too many moving pieces to keep everyone safe."

James adjusts his trajectory to take a path towards his one-room apartment that he's saved for an emergency situation.

"Do you hear me, James? You need to go now. No side stops. Whatever's on you is all you get."

James clenches his jaw, irritation spiking at the commanding tone. "My notebooks—"

"Don't. Matter. You have all of two friends coming after you along with a royally pissed off vengeance seeker, not to mention a squad of civilian law enforcement."

James' gaze darts to the building ahead where he should take a right to get back on track to his apartment. He swallows hard, "I—"

"I'm sorry. Go. When you're out of the city, drop a line to Fri. If something changes, we'll try to give you a heads-up."

Not for the first time, James wonders why the hell Tony Stark is helping him. "You don't have to do this," he mutters as he takes the straight alleyway and searches for the nearest open door that will let him cut through a building.

"Just get going."

The ensuing silence alerts James that the call ended. He tucks the phone into his chest pocket. With one hand he adjusts his cap and tucks the end of his long hair into the collar of his jacket. He'll keep his small bag of purchases for now, anything to blend in.

~ * ~ * ~

"I don't understand. He was supposed to be here," Steve mutters to Sam as they crouch on the rooftop across from the building where a Special Forces team is practically tearing apart the apartment.

"I don't know, man. Maybe we should be glad. He might have gotten out of there quick enough to avoid all this."

With a frown, Steve pulls out the notebook he managed to grab before Sam alerted him to move out. "This doesn't look good at all," he counters. "If they don't find signs of him having been here at the time of the attack, they'll take it as further evidence that it was Bucky." Glancing at the notebook with a grimace he mutters, "These don't exactly make things look good either."

Sam side-eyes his friend, holding his tongue on the question of _what will you do if it really was him?_ It doesn't seem all that likely, given the lack of incidences during the years since Steve started them on this quest for his friend. That doesn't mean it's impossible, though. After the shit Barnes had obviously been through, reaching a snapping point isn't out of the question. However, a public bombing with evidence of a calm man at the crime scene does not fit what Sam would expect.

"Have you tried Stark, yet? He's got the tech to start breaking down that image and check for tampering." He manfully resists the urge to sigh when Steve shakes his head.

"He's too focused on the Accords. I— He might not be in the best frame of mind to help. Even if he was, it wouldn't be good for him to be caught interfering in the investigation."

Sam thinks Steve may not be giving Stark enough credit, but Steve knows the guy better than Sam. He decides to go with humor and quirks a crooked smile Steve's way; "You think it looks good for us?"

Steve winces. "You don't have to be here, Sam. I know you're sticking your neck out for me."

Sam elbows Steve in the side. "Shut up, I know how to make my own decisions. I do think we should clear the area, though."

Steve looks wistfully at the apartment across the way. "Probably. Doesn't look like we'll be able to get back in there now."

They stay low as they make their way to the other side of the building. Steve indicates they should cross another roof before heading back to street level. Fortunately they both kept mostly to civilian gear, but there's no perfect way to hide their specialized equipment. A hastily cobbled together cloth cover sort of masks Sam's wings as a backpack. Steve's shield shapes his shoulder bag a little oddly. It's better than nothing, but still not great. With the local law enforcement on alert, two Avengers members are likely to be identified. They had to come, though, there was no telling what would happen if Barnes was cornered. Hopefully the man is long gone by now.

They're two more rooftops over from their original position when they're intercepted by a man dressed all in black, including a full-helmeted mask that looks vaguely like a... panther?

"Umm..." Sam says as he jerks to a stop. His hand twitches towards the button that will set his wings free. Steve's already got a hand in his bag to grab the shield.

"You know where he is," the stranger growls. Sam has the hysterical urge to say _"Easy, kitty."_ It takes a moment to realize the voice in his mind sounds like Stark. _Yeah that would fit,_ he thinks.

"Who are you talking about?" Steve asks. His bewildered tone is hardly convincing.

The stranger shifts his weight, obviously preparing for a physical confrontation. _Well shit,_ Sam thinks. _Here I was thinking we'd get to avoid that._ Barnes' absence had made him hope they could sneak in and out of Bucharest with minimal possibility of detection.

Steve slowly frees his shield, so Sam removes the bag facade from his wings.

"Why do you aid a murderer, Captain America?" The stranger demands. His words suggest this guy possibly falls more on the hero side than villain.

Sam takes note of the claws on the man's gloves.

"He didn't do what they claim he did," Steve says, his chin raised stubbornly.

The panther man scoffs and makes a sharp sweeping gesture. "I have seen the evidence. It is the Winter Soldier I seek. Do not interfere!"

"Bucky's innocent! Someone faked the surveillance."

"Then why hide him? Let him attempt to argue his innocence and let an investigation determine his guilt." His tone makes it clear that the stranger doubts Barnes will be found anything but guilty.

"Just who are you?" Steve asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What does that matter to you, Steve Rogers?" The panther tilts his head towards Sam. "And why are you here, Sam Wilson, if not to bring the Winter Soldier to justice?"

"We're pretty sure there's more going on with this situation than what is readily apparent," Sam says steadily. He hopes they can still manage to keep this confrontation peaceful.

"You still haven't answered me," Steve remarks. No one misses how his stance shifts to better position himself for attack.

"The Winter Soldier killed my father," the panther growls. "Do not stand in my way!"

"What happened to justice?" Sam mutters. He braces himself when he sees Steve raising his shield.

Sam can tell they're moments away from launching into an unnecessary fight when suddenly an Avengers alert starts beeping from their phones. Steve's gaze darts briefly to Sam before focusing again on the panther. Their (potential) opponent cocks his head to the side.

When no one says anything, Sam clears his throat and reaches for his phone. Only the general Avengers alert flashes on the screen, no notification of who's making the call. Sam taps "receive" and brings the phone to his ear.

"Wilson, you and Rogers need to stand down." Stark sounds tightly controlled, very different than his usual tone when speaking with the Avengers. "At this point, you're not getting out of the city without being noticed. But for godsake, do not give them reason to do anything more than question why you're there."

"Uh... okay? Are you watching us?" Sam's gaze darts skyward for a moment, wondering about the use of the satellites he knows Stark Industries has.

Tony replies with more familiar snark, "What are you using to talk to me? Did you forget Avengers' connections?" He sighs. "Seriously, Wilson. Steve's too emotionally involved and that is not going to go well if you run into—"

"Someone in a panther suit?" Sam asks dryly. He shrugs when the two other men on the roof stare at him. "About that..."

"A what? Just a sec..." Sam hears Stark mutter a question to his AI. A few moments later, his voice comes through clearly again. "Alright, then. Apparently we really are talking about the same guy. The Black Panther is there? Please do not get into a fight. That's T'challa. You know, the prince of Wakanda? The guy whose father played a key role in opening the Accords talk and was just killed?"

Sam bites back a curse. "Understood."

"Just... keep trouble to a minimum. Contact Natasha if you need help with something. I need to go."

"Wait, Stark," Sam calls, hoping to keep him on the line a little longer.

"Pressed for time, here," Tony warns.

"Could the footage be doctored?" Sam ignores Steve's concerned frown.

For a long moment, Sam hears only faint murmurs coming from the other side of the connection. Eventually Tony exhales slowly. His voice is nearly inaudible when he murmurs, "I'm on it." The call disconnects before Sam can say anything else.

Sam focuses on the Blank Panther as he puts his phone away. "Your Highness," he greets with a respectful nod. "I think we all want to be sure the correct culprit is brought to justice."

T'challa's hands clench at his side. "And what does your friend think about your false evidence theory?"

"There is an investigation into the possibility," Sam explains. "We're all just trying to determine the truth of what happened."

Steve looks between Sam and T'challa, expression tight. It doesn't take long for him to lower his shield and ease into a more relaxed stand. "I'm sorry for your loss, your Highness. I assure you, the real culprit will be brought to justice, but it is not the Winter Soldier."

"You're so assured," the prince replies disdainfully. "I will await proof."

It's the best they're going to get. Sam's just glad that Steve decides not to argue.

~ * ~ * ~

James hunkers down between an industrial trash bin and the corrugated steel of a plane hanger. He made good distance in the five hours since Tony's call. He's been focusing on movement, not a destination, but now he wonders if he should shift focus. There's a knot of dread in his gut, but it's overshadowed by the feeling of resignation. He's always known that nowhere is safe for him. He'd let himself start to relax, Bucharest had let him settle for just over seven months. He'd changed apartments and areas of the city, but it had been nice to grow a sense of familiarity. It was nice to wake up and be able to know where he was almost immediately, even when the rest of his mind was confused.

He scrubs his right hand over his face as he gathers his thoughts. He has to decide what to do next. He can find his own way, or he could take advantage of one of the properties Tony had listed for him. James had vetted the security of a small place in Turkey and a villa in Greece. He can lie low, wait for Tony or Friday to signal the all-clear. He could run.

He could _keep_ running. He hasn't stopped, not really.

There is another option. James removes his phone from his pocket. After another quick check of the area, he scans his thumbprint and opens up the browser. He skims through a variety news sources from around the world. The headlines vary from country to country to some extent, and there are already conspiracy debates heating up in comments. The video released to the public in order to get information about the bomber — about _him_ — isn't high quality. They drag out a photograph someone captured in DC. He notices that every news outlet refers to him only as "The Winter Soldier."

James exits the browser before navigating to his contacts and calling Friday.

"Mr. Barnes, how can I assist you?" the AI promptly greets.

"Tony had a better capture of the bombing footage. Can you send it to me again?" His request is granted in a matter of seconds. He watches silently as the man comes around the truck, the cloth that should cover his face conveniently out of place. James catches half a second where the man's eyes dart towards the camera. "Is there anything new?" he asks.

"I am processing data from all possible sources in the city in attempts to trace the origins of the perpetrator's vehicle. It is… taking longer than anticipated," she admits. 

" _All_ sources?"

"Of course. I am attempting to gain Vision's help, but he is currently not alone, and Boss said to limit those involved."

"Friday, you can't comb through an entire city's worth of data—"

"I am quite aware of my capabilities, Mr. Barnes," she cuts in sharply. "It may take time, but I _will_ determine how he made it close enough to place the bomb and identify the perpetrator who is attempting to lay the blame on you."

James closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. He could lay low. He could keep running.

"Where's Tony?" he asks.

"Boss has relocated to Berlin. He is involved with the joint task force as they investigate."

"He's covering for me," he mutters.

"Among other things," Friday acknowledges. After a pause where neither of them speak, she says, "Mr. Barnes, do you wish me to direct you to a safe location?"

He inhales through his nose, holds his breath for a long five-count, and releases it in a gusty sigh.

"Friday?"

"Yes, Mr. Barnes?"

James opens his eyes and slides to the edge of his hiding spot. "I need a flight out of here."

He doesn't think he's imagining the suspicious tone in her voice when Friday asks pointedly, "And which property shall I direct you to?"

"I'm headed to Switzerland."

Friday doesn't respond for a time, and he isn't quite sure how to read that. Eventually she says, "Your final destination is Zurich, Mr. Barnes. Please give me a few minutes to arrange the best route for your travel. Boss would not be happy if you turned up on the news."

James feels his lips twitch in a wry smile. "That'd be a lousy way to pay him back."

"I'm glad you understand. Now, please proceed to procure a vehicle and head to these coordinates…"

The circuitous route and detours take a while, but nine hours later, James slips in the back door of a simple two-story home.

~ * ~ * ~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's Stubborn Jaw (tm) gets special mention because Aliska and I have made far too many comments about it. XD

Tony listens with half an ear as Thaddeus Ross snaps over the phone. Tony isn't entirely sure why the hell he's on the receiving end of this tirade, though he supposes it's better than being out of the loop. He readjusts the ear piece as he stands up and starts pacing around the small conference room he'd been permitted to take over.

A glance down at his phone reveals no updates from Friday about the footage from Vienna. He starts skimming through the files they've collected anyway, needing something to keep his mind from wandering too far out. Friday interrupts his browsing with video of the garage where Natasha's stepping forward to greet the three-car convoy arriving from the airport. 

Muting his microphone, Tony asks Friday, "Any restrictions we need to worry about?"

"Deputy Ross is meeting with the new arrivals regarding their… questionable trip to Romania."

Tony mutters, "Too many goddamn Rosses." Unlike Thaddeus, Everett doesn't have any glaring red flags in his past. Tony knows better than to let his guard down, but doesn't he deserve a break somewhere in this shitstorm?

"Should I tap into the conversation, Boss?" Friday prompts.

Tony watches Natasha place a hand on Steve's arm. She stands close, and judging by the quick grimace that twists his lips, what she says isn't pleasant. Tony smiles reluctantly before answering. "We'll let Natasha handle this one."

"Okay, Boss."

"Thanks. Focus on the Masked Man situation, Fri."

Ross' curt, "Stark?" gets him back on track. Tony unmutes to start rattling off statistics about population size, the complications of tracking down useful feeds to aid in the investigation, and pointing out the issues of jurisdiction concerns. Christ, when did he wind up playing a role in diplomacy?

~ * ~ * ~

Tony's watching the screen on the wall displaying Natasha taking the lead from Everett's office. His phone rings, and it's a testament to how full his head is that it takes a while for him to recognize the ringtone. He has to glance down at his phone to check that it really is Pepper calling. 

He hesitates. They haven't been a couple for years now, but their recent distance has been over her frustration with his secrecy. Justified, as Tony probably could have opened up to her. However, he hadn't wanted to drag her into the political nightmare of Avengers business, and he's selfishly kept his contact with James to himself.

In the end, he can't ignore the opportunity to speak with her. He accepts the call and turns away from the wall monitor. "Hey, Pep. Isn't it a little early for you?"

"Are you okay? I'd like to think so, since I didn't get a call from Friday, but I never know with you. What about the others? Jim and Natasha are with you, right?"

"Rhodey's stuck in Vienna for now, but we're all fine," Tony soothes. He hadn't considered that Pepper would catch the news about the bombing and realize he was present. "A couple scrapes, nothing some soap and water couldn't fix."

Her exhale sounds a little shaky. "Good," she says quietly. "There isn't a lot of information being broadcasted."

"Not a lot that can be released," he admits. "Too many questions right now."

His phone vibrates, so Tony wakes up the screen to see what Friday's sent him. He misses whatever Pepper says next as he frowns at the text on screen: **Raymond Shaw asked for NW heading. En route now.**

"Tony?"

"Sorry. There's a lot going on right now." Tony types a quick question as he speaks. **Not here!?**

"I…" Pepper sighs quietly, sounding worried but resigned. "I know you're in the middle of this. I'm sorry if I sidetracked you. I just…"

"Hey," Tony interrupts, focusing on the conversation. "I appreciate it. Things have been… tense." His lips quirk in a rueful smile when he hears her breathy laugh. "Yeah. I didn't want to get you involved," he explains.

"Tony, I'll always be involved."

"Pep, I'm—"

"Tony." He shuts his mouth and drags a hand over his face. When she's assured that he's listening, she continues. "I'm your _friend_. Something like this? It's not something you can just compartmentalize. When you tried… Well, I could have reacted better. I didn't want you to close me out."

Tony sighs. "And then we ended with a wall between us anyway."

"I'm sorry, Tony. Not sure what I can do, but let me know what you need."

Tony turns to check on Natasha's progress and catches sight of her red hair outside the room's clear wall rather than on-screen.

"Promise I'll check back in, but I've gotta go."

"Take care of yourself, Tony." He can hear her reluctance to let him go before she gets some answers about what's happening.

"You too, Pepper." He meets Natasha's gaze when she reaches the door. Behind her, Sam and Steve are following slowly. Tony turns away to finish his conversation as the door opens. "Keep an eye out," he tells her quietly, "for our grand Secretary of State. I have the sneaking suspicion he'd happily take out some frustration on SI if things here don't start going his way."

"Tony… This sounds like I really need to know what's going on."

"I'll have Fri send you some things. Gotta go." He waits a few seconds before hanging up.

Before he turns around to face the others, he glances at his phone screen for Friday's response. **He's looking for a ski lodge.** Tony allows himself a moment to roll his eyes at the comment. Right. Switzerland. Not the worst place for James to be. At the same time, Tony feels a sense of dread knowing that James is that much closer to the current activity.

"Everything alright?" Natasha asks quietly. Tony startles at her voice coming from his shoulder. A firm hand presses against his back to steady him. Natasha tilts her head into view and runs a calculating gaze over his face.

"Make some noise next time," Tony complains. He slips his phone into his pocket before turning around and stepping away from her touch. Steve and Sam are seated on the opposite side of the table, watching him with wary expressions. Tony arches an eyebrow and glances back at Natasha. "Do I want to know what Everett said?"

"There may have been some politely worded warnings to stay put," she replies mildly.

Sam grimaces at that. Steve crosses his arms with a stubborn frown. Tony wonders if another round of aspirin will do his headache any good.

"Okay, did you open your mouths and give some excuse about why you were in Bucharest?" Tony asks. He puts a hand on the back of a chair, intending to pull it out before he realizes that he's too antsy to sit down.

"Given the atmosphere around our arrival, it didn't seem like anything we said would be taken well," Steve responds, barely hiding a grimace.

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. He tells himself to appreciate that Steve apparently kept his mouth shut and currently seems to be coming around to an awareness of the complexity of the situation they're in.

"Look, Tony, we need your help." Steve's voice drops a little and when Tony glances up, the blond's posture has slumped as he leans forward. Wide blue eyes stare up at him, and in this moment he looks more lost than he has since his first year out of the ice.

Tony looks away and focuses on the bustle of personnel through the hall. "What do you think you need?" he asks.

"You said the footage could be faked," Steve presses.

"We don't know that…" Tony starts.

"It wasn't him!" Steve cuts in before Tony decides how to continue. "Bucky wouldn't do this."

Tony scowls. He turns back to Steve and leans over with his hands pressed to the tabletop. "And how would you know?" he demands. He ignores Sam's wary gaze, instead focusing on Steve and the damn stubborn set of his jaw. "Tell me, Steve. What do you know about this guy? What do you _really_ know?"

"Bucky—"

"Isn't who you think he is. Not anymore," Tony interrupts this time.

"And how would _you_ know?"

"Time. Experience. The events of DC. What little traces you've turned up while searching for breadcrumbs," Tony lists, leaving out any mention of his personal interactions. He pushes back and walks away from the table when Steve just stares at him skeptically. "Fine. Say I agree with you and your old pal didn't have a hand in this. What's the point of framing a supposed ghost?"

Sam speaks up this time. "We don't know."

Tony turns on his heel and points at Sam. "Exactly. That's a problem. A giant, gaping problem that should be making your skin crawl."

"Yes, but I need to make sure no one catches up with Bucky." Steve sits straight and meets Tony's glare unwaveringly. "I agree, Tony. But Buck's…" The blond swallows visibly and his gaze dips for a moment. "He's all that's left."

And isn't that a punch in the gut. Tony looks away sharply and carefully keeps his breathing steady despite the sudden sharp ache in his chest. Of course Steve would run off half-cocked, chasing down the last person connecting to his old life. Peggy's gone. Freshly buried.

 _"Seriously, Tony? You can't even make the damn time to attend her funeral?"_ (He couldn't, what with the damned conflicting timing of political events requiring his presence; he doesn't have enough power or standing to force a reschedule.) 

_Was it even worth it?_ he wonders. The bombing derailed the opening ceremony regarding the Accords, and now it's on hold as the investigation begins and the United Nations regains its feet and sorts out its priorities. Ross is breathing down Tony's neck and trying to justify detaining Captain America for reasons Tony prefers not to dwell on right now. James is on the run, Friday's sorting through more data than she's ever handled, and Tony's stuck _here_.

"Who told you where to look?" Tony finally asks, letting some of his weariness carry in his tone. He'd prefer not to show weakness, but holding too firm will just encourage Steve to fight back.

He doesn't get an answer right away. Tony glances at the pair across the table looking at each other and trying to communicate silently. Holding back a frustrated sigh, Tony tips his head in Natasha's direction.

The redhead is far more helpful. "Sharon Carter," she informs him.

"Nat?" Sam sounds a little surprised, though Tony isn't sure if that's because the man didn't expect Natasha to know or if he didn't anticipate her ratting them out.

"She wanted to let me have the chance to make sure he got out okay," Steve defends.

Tony paces across the small room and back before responding. "Ignoring how much trouble she'll be in when they figure out she passed on classified information to you, what did you think you'd do when you got there? You must have guessed the kind of force they'd be sending in."

"They would have killed him!"

The unfortunate truth is that Steve's right. It wasn't a guarantee, but Tony knows about the orders passed along to the men and women being sent in. Tony rubs at his mouth as he considers his response. He's peripherally aware of Natasha studying him attentively.

"Were you going to fight your way through dozens of civilian and military law enforcement?" he finally asks.

"I didn't want to." The skin around Steve's eyes is tight as his expression falls. "I wanted to get to him first and get him out of sight."

"And it would be you and Sam against the world." Tony finally toes a chair out from the table and slumps down into it. He fixes his stare firmly on Steve. "For one, you aren't alone, Cap. Second, your pal is more resourceful than you give him credit for. Third, with him out of sight, I need you to focus your attention on the bigger picture. From what we have so far, whoever this guy is was more than capable of escaping detection. There's no reason for him to get so clearly caught on camera."

"You know Bucky didn't do it," Steve murmurs, looking surprised. Tony bites back the frustration and hurt that the response evokes.

In a clipped tone, he counters, "I don't like the evidence conveniently pointing directly at a ghost."

"You got a plan?" Sam asks, leaning in, eyes lit with curiosity.

"I have questions." He hasn't been able to sit still long enough to come up with a plan. He's also wary about the watch he knows Ross has on him.

Natasha slips into a chair next to Tony's. "That's a place to start," she notes. "And if you have anything that can convince T'challa that there's another path he should consider, I'd say we have another ally."

Tony pulls out his phone to pull up Friday's latest summary of findings. "Nothing definitive," he murmurs, skimming through stats on what she's filtered through so far. "Give us another hour or two. We don't want him to dismiss whatever I can offer."

Steve clears his throat and when Tony reluctantly looks his way, the blond asks, "What can we do?"

That's the million dollar question, isn't it? And somehow Tony finds himself in the position where people expect to find their answers.

~ * ~ * ~

"Well I'm feeling a little outclassed here," Tony says as he watches the two tall women following after T'challa. They wear stoic expressions and move with the confidence of well-trained fighters. Tony has no question of why these women are present.

"Do you have a problem with my company?" T'challa asks, his tone a quiet challenge.

Tony slides one hand into his pocket and makes a sweeping gesture with his other hand to indicate the open seats around the table. "Not at all."

The prince doesn't look convinced, but it doesn't matter since he takes a seat in the middle of the table. His bodyguards take up position on either side of the room. Tony eyes them thoughtfully before sitting down opposite T'challa.

"So, Mr. Stark, I have been informed that you may have evidence regarding the cause of my father's death." T'challa sits tall even as he rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers together.

Tony's lips twitch, amused by the other man's posturing. He probably has twenty years on T'challa, and even if he hadn't been raised with the thought of diplomacy, the business world is full of its own politics.

"I believe you were pursuing an obvious lead without questioning how it could _be_ so obvious." Tony slides his tablet across the table as he pulls out his phone. With a few quick taps, he sends the relevant images for T'challa to examine. "You can see that whoever that is knows where the camera will capture him. He looks at it, straight on." He leans back and watches the other man peruse the data. "He should have been masked, the cloth is certainly there. Convenient how the face is bare and that the camera captures a full image."

"A mistake, but not impossible," T'challa counters without looking up from the tablet.

"Do you know that prior breaking free of Hydra, the Winter Soldier was something of a ghost even among the intelligence community? He disappeared after DC, his first truly public appearance. Do you really imagine he'd reemerge like this? This guy's drawn a world of attention. That doesn't touch on determining the _why_ of what happened. What would a man who's been so completely off the radar gain by this attack and the attention?"

T'challa rests the tablet on the table to meet Tony's stare. His expression looks blank, but Tony is familiar with such looks holding back tangled emotions of vulnerability. 

"He was Hydra. He may have been biding his time until now," T'challa says.

Tony shakes his head shortly. "Not willingly. The Winter Soldier was under Hydra's control." He glances down at the tablet with a grimace. "And before that, a secret division of the Russian government groomed him as a specialized operative." 

T'challa holds up a hand to interrupt Tony's explanation. "The Winter Soldier was once Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. A contemporary of the great Captain America. Apparently the sergeant came under Soviet care in the wake of a failed mission that left him half dead."

Tony looks up sharply at the prince. The details about the Winter Soldier's identity have been largely hidden in layers of red tape and secrecy. JARVIS had been careful with curating the extent of the details Natasha dumped to the world. Barnes couldn't be fully kept under wraps after the Soldier had been exposed to so many people in DC, but the American government has been careful to keep things under wraps. T'challa stares back at Tony with an eyebrow arched in silent challenge.

"Your friend, Captain Rogers, certainly seemed invested. You can understand my curiosity."

"I'm more interested in how you came across your information so quickly," Tony mutters. He drums his fingers against the table restlessly, running through possibilities in his mind.

In the silence, T'challa returns his gaze to the tablet's screen and flicks through the images. Eventually he swipes aside the data and brings out his phone. He taps through a series of commands that has the tablet lighting up again. He pushes the tablet with enough force that it spins across the table to Tony.

As Tony picks it up to look at the new information on screen, T'challa explains, "My people are not unfamiliar with the latest technology, Mr. Stark. I have come to the conclusion that there is merit to the theory that someone is framing this Winter Soldier."

Tony frowns as he looks at the data broken down in code alongside the same footage he's been working with. The conclusions match up with Friday's findings, although he can tell that a different path led T'challa's sources here. 

Glancing up, Tony asks, "Have you found anything to give us a lead?"

T'challa folds his hands in front of him as he leans forward. "Do you believe I would be here if I had?"

Tony bites back a sarcastic retort. He should probably mind his manners with royalty. He holds his tongue because a voice of reason — sounding a lot like Rhodey — is pointing out that the young man has just lost his father; he held the man in his arms. Not even twenty-four hours later and he's here in front of Tony.

Eventually Tony replies, "That's not exactly an encouragement for me to share anything I turn up."

"We both want to see this man pay, do we not?"

Tony crosses his arms on the table and levels T'challa with a flat stare. "Look, god knows I'm not the model of restraint, but I want to point out the broader scope here. You've got proof that there's something wrong about the appearance in the video, so we agree that Barnes is being framed. That begs the question of _why_? Why now, why the bomb, why _him_?"

T'challa pounds a fist on the table as he expression twists with grief, "I held my father with his dying breath! If this is not the man who killed him, why should I care beyond discovering who did?"

Tony closes his eyes briefly. His mother's perfume seems to hang in the air, and he can still feel the brush of her lips on his cheek. The memories are too fresh. Not for the first time, he wonders what the hell possessed him to open himself up like that at the presentation, lay bare one of his great regrets. _Self-reflection is a bitch._

"Fair enough," he responds. He meets T'challa's fierce glare with a shuttered expression. "I'm going to find this guy. He's going down, and I'll figure out what the hell is going on. If you're able to help with that, I'd appreciate it."

T'challa nods tightly. "I will speak with my people to contact you. I will be updated at every step," he says firmly.

Tony feels his lips twitch in a rueful smile. "I wouldn't expect anything else," he replies. "Anything else, your Highness?"

"That is all at this time, Mr. Stark." T'challa stands, and the women approach him, falling into place near his back. Tony stands up, preparing to part ways. T'challa glances down at his hand and twists his ring thoughtfully. "I am curious about one thing, however." He doesn't look at Tony as he asks, "Why was it so important to you to clear the Winter Soldier's name?"

Tony has the excuse ready without needing to plan it; "He was Rogers' friend. Despite the shit he went through, he dragged Cap's sorry ass out of the Potomac."

"Hmm. As you say." T'challa doesn't press the issue although he is clearly unconvinced by the explanation. He nods briefly at Tony before striding out of the room. One of the bodyguards pauses a moment to run a calculating gaze over Tony; he gives her a little wave and a cocky smile he doesn't really feel. She arches an eyebrow at him before leaving.

When the Wakandans have disappeared down the hall, Tony slowly sinks down into his chair. He wishes he could black out the windows like he can at home. The clear wall facing the hall leaves him too exposed even when it looks like people are busy in the offices. Friday can take care of monitoring equipment in the room, but it's a limited protection he could easily be called on if the task force leaders grow frustrated with his seclusion. Tony allows himself a moment of weakness and drops his head into his hand. He rubs at his temples and makes a concentrated effort to unclench his jaw.

Quietly he speaks to Friday, "How are you progressing on the Vienna data?"

"I'm sorry, Boss. It's taking far longer than I hoped," she answers him, voice also low.

"Don't apologize. It's a lot for you to take on." He considers his options for when T'challa's people contact him. They could divvy up the work, depending on the others' capabilities. But that would mean connecting them with Friday and after Ultron... he's especially protective of how many people understand just how advanced his children are.

"Did the houseguest arrive?" he asks in order to shift his thoughts.

"He's just arrived," Friday confirms. "Boss... I believe it's been seventeen hours since you last ate."

Tony frowns at that and forces himself to sit up straight. He glances at the wall clock and does a quick calculation that does little to enlighten him. Had he really still been in Vienna at that time? It's late, crossing into "too early" territory. Glancing out the glass wall reveals that there are less people bustling about. He'd sent Natasha off with Sam and Steve to settle in at the hotel and consider the current situation away from the watchful eyes of the task force.

"Boss?"

"Yeah, Fri?" He lets out a long sigh before standing up and collecting his tablet.

"You should get some sleep, Boss."

Lips twisting in a weak smile, Tony points out, "No rest for the wicked." The silence in response tells him enough of what she thinks about that.

"I'll eat," he compromises and heads for the door.

Halfway down the hall he runs into a tired-looking Everett Ross. "Mr. Stark," he greets, bringing Tony to a halt. "I hadn't realized you were still here. Why don't you go to your hotel and rest."

Tony's more than a little surprised by the offer. This is a major investigation and Secretary Ross had jumped on him as soon as the news broadcast. Tony knows he's expected to be keeping tabs on every step of the investigation. The Secretary expects Tony to report back, clearly blind to the fact that Tony never follows orders to the letter.

"I don't think we have the luxury of taking a break," he says.

Everett snorts quietly. "In my experience, too long without some kind of change in scenery breeds mistakes. Mr. Stark, I know you've set up some programs to assist in our investigation. Surely you can afford some time for yourself." At Tony's blank look, Everett hooks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the way to the elevators. "Go. If you work from your room, fine. Unless something comes up, I'd rather you spend some time resting. I'll expect you back in eight hours. We're all working in shifts, Mr. Stark. I need my people fresh."

Tony feels his eyes narrowing, suspicious by this allowance of space. He mutters, "I'm not exactly one of your people."

"Hired consultant, as far as I understand," the deputy commander notes. "I'm on my way out as well, should I call you a car?"

With no further updates about Vienna, he decides some space away from prying eyes could be useful. He returns his gaze to Ross and nods briefly. "Fine."

~ * ~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Re: [Raymond Shaw](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0056218/?ref_=fn_al_tt_2) (or the [2004 remake](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0368008/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1))
> 
> Throughout the story I make vague references to the Accords being a longer-term process. Given what a process it is just to get a law passed in one country... well, I can only imagine the nightmare it would be to iron out the details on a global scale. Thus the UN meeting that was bombed was more of an initial unveiling of the proposed Accords and the time for some of the well-known enhanced superheroes to make a good-will gesture of promising to adhere to upcoming regulations.
> 
> Also, it was while writing this part that I realized Bucky's background is bizarre. I mean, not as complicated as the retcons of 616... However, flashbacks seem to imply that Hydra had Bucky from the very beginning, not just some "secret Soviet division." When I start questioning these things, Aliska tells me that _"Details are for squares"_ , so I'm gonna try and let these things go. :p
> 
> (I promise that Tony and James are together in the next chapter. In more than one way.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to up the rating just for one scene, so just be aware that there is smex in this chapter.
> 
> Have lots of Feels and a little smut.

Tony spends ten minutes stripping out of his suit and pulling on something more comfortable. He wastes another fifteen minutes pacing through the rooms of his suite, checking on his e-mail. By the half hour point, he's standing by a window and staring blindly out at the city.

"Boss, it's a short trip to Zurich."

Friday's suggestion manages to ease some of the tension pulling his shoulders tight. Tony glances up at the dark sky. He has a balcony and he's on the top floor. He's already placed strict orders not to be disturbed in his rooms. He sure as hell isn't getting any sleep here.

"Yeah, Friday, let's catch some air." He draws the curtains and heads for the bedroom where the briefcase suit is already unfolding.

"Should I inform Mr. Shaw?" Friday prompts.

"You don't have to keep calling him that," Tony points out as he steps into the boots.

"I thought keeping to codenames would be best."

Tony smiles, more of his tension easing thanks to Friday's company and the feel of his preferred suit settling into place. "I'll give him a heads-up on the way."

~ * ~ * ~

James keeps the main lights off, operating mostly by the light that filters through the drawn curtains and a lamp he moved from the corner of the living room into the kitchen. He tilts his head when he catches a faint sound like an electrical whine. He hasn't often had the opportunity to hear it, but his mind quickly identifies the sound as the repulsors of the Iron Man armor. James goes to the refrigerator and pulls out the juice he'd stuck in earlier.

In a few minutes, he hears the tread of footsteps on the floor above. At the stairs, the footsteps hesitate, and James can hear a muttered curse. The light over the stairs flicks on, brightening the living room a little. Tony tromps down the stairs with his way illuminated.

"Not all of us can see in the dark, Klondike," Tony complains as he reaches the bottom of the steps. "In fact, some of us are getting old and that carries the burden of worsening eyesight. You don't need to remind me."

James feels his lips twitch up in amusement at the petulant tone. He feels some of the tension he's been carrying since that first call in Bucharest ease. He keeps his back to the doorway while he pours the juice.

"Well this is a little more domestic than I expected," Tony says.

James sets aside the container before turning around. He meets Tony's bemused stare with an arched eyebrow. "What did you expect?"

Tony blinks, thinking for a moment before he shrugs. "I dunno. You scouring for hidden panels and an armory to gear up and charge into things?" He grimaces and quickly waves a hand to dismiss that. "I mean... sorry." He drags his hand over his face, giving James a moment of quiet to scan him.

Tony's in socks without shoes, and his long tee and loose pants are wrinkled from being compressed under the armor. There are a few scrapes on his hands and James can see a pale bruise near his hairline. His shoulders are slumped with clear exhaustion as he leans against the doorway.

"Friday said you haven't eaten," James says. Tony looks up at him with a frown. "I hadn't, either. C'mon." James sets the juice on the breakfast bar next to a plate of basic sandwiches he slapped together twenty minutes ago. He claims a stool and nudges one out in open invitation.

"Where'd you find this?" Tony asks as he shuffles over. He pokes suspiciously at one of the sandwich halves before taking it.

James shrugs and grabs up a half for himself. "Brief run out." Before Tony can protest, he explains, "Tiny place with an ancient system probably still connected to a VCR, if it recorded at all. Quick in and out."

Tony rolls his eyes at the report but refrains from comment as he stuffs half the sandwich in his mouth. He doesn't seem to realize how quickly he's going through the food until he's on his third half. Tony slows down, then, and starts drinking his juice. Despite his curiosity, James lets the silence stretch as they fill up.

Eventually Tony finishes his glass and crosses an arm on the counter. He props his elbow up and rests his chin on his hand as he eyes James. "How're you holding up, Robocop?"

James returns the look. "Shouldn't I be askin' you? You're the one in the middle of things."

Tony's eyes narrow. "I'd argue that _you_ are, Cupcake."

"Sure, from a certain point of view."

Pulling out the quote is worth seeing the tired smile that tugs at Tony's lips. "Are you quoting Star Wars at me?"

James raises his glass as he mutters, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tony chuckles, shaking his head a little. The amusement fades quickly and his gaze slants aside to stare at a spot on the granite countertop. "Things are tense," he admits. "Too many players in this damn situation, and I can't get a read on all of them. Not like I'm great at reading people at the best of times." He starts drumming his fingers against the countertop. "Seems like the deputy commander has a clearer perspective on things than I anticipated. He's a hell of a lot calmer than the other Ross. That bastard's at my damn throat."

James' fingers curl into a fist against his thigh. What little he's come to know about the Secretary of State makes his skin crawl. "What's he want?" he asks.

Tony's gaze slides to him. "You mean besides doing his damnedest to collar up the Avengers for his personal little squad to command? He wants an excuse to bring Steve to heel and pushed into a corner that he thinks would get Steve to make a deal." James snorts at that, which coaxes a small smile from Tony. "Yeah. If we were at the point that he could put that play into action, I'd tell him what an idiotic move that'd be. Fortunately there wasn't any reason to argue criminal activity. People certainly aren't happy about Captain America and Falcon turning up Romania without warning, but having a third costumed hero turn up from outside the Avengers seems to have caused enough confusion that few people are pressing _why_ they all were there."

James grimaces. "For me."

Tony nods tiredly. "For you." He closes his eyes and leans heavily on his hand. "Christ, that could have been a nightmare. Instead they just got a polite warning to be careful, given the rough political waters we're navigating here."

"News said the Accords hearings are suspended."

"The United Nations is a little busy regaining its balance and dealing with losses." Tony's lips press together tightly; he breathes deeply through his nose. "The joint task force has its work cut out for them. They're accepting help, even open to having Cap's and Falcon's help if they cooperate with leadership."

"And how's _that_ going?"

Tony cracks an eye open to look at James. Whatever he sees brings back his tired smile. "Alright, for now. Natasha's always had a better relationship there, and she's good at talking people around. Hopefully she can convince them of the bigger picture. I guess... I'm feeling better about it now that you're out of sight." He closes his eye again. "Our flag-covered friend has a damn frustrating stubborn streak."

"Always has," James notes quietly. He turns his attention to the sink to avoid possible eye contact. He has flashes of memory. Unsurprisingly most of the memories from his distant past in New York revolve around the blond spitfire who'd been at his side since... well, since he can remember.

"Yeah, doesn't surprise me," Tony says dryly. "It can be helpful, but he's damn likely to rock a boat we can't afford to flip." He makes a little disgusted sound over his metaphor. "Oh my god, where did that come from?"

James glances over with a small smile. Tony's sitting up and scrubbing his face with both hands. "You're exhausted," James points out.

Tony glares at him. "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock." He looks away and drops his hands into his lap. James notes how Tony's fingers interlock together tight enough to whiten his knuckles. 

"What the hell is going on?" Tony whispers harshly, face contorting. He doesn't look at James. "This timing, the target... what does this guy _want_? And why make sure he got caught looking like you?" Tony drags his fingers roughly through his hair. "Fuck. There's something— It's like the answer's _just there_ out of sight, but I can't figure it out."

James hesitantly extends his hand, slowly settling his fingers on Tony's arm. When Tony sways towards him, James settles his hand firmly around Tony's shoulder and braces him. Tony bows his head, eyes closing. "Shit. Ross is going to press for more control. We need the UN to get back on track, open up the Accords talks for a broader view before that slimy bastard manages to grab control."

"Focus should be on the bombing for now, right? That gives you more time." _You_ , like it doesn't affect James. He swallows the confused feeling of guilt. He's tried to steer clear — of everything. Tony found him over a year ago now, but largely let James choose his own path. He had let James know that something like the Accords was coming; Tony had looked at him and seemed to know that James wouldn't step out of hiding, even though Tony was ready to prove a case supporting a captured and tortured prisoner of war. Tony hadn't even asked James to come out. So yes, the Accords are still a _Tony_ thing, not _James_.

"I can't let that slip off the radar," Tony responds. His eyes are looking a little red-rimmed, making James wonder when the man last slept. Tony's right, of course. Ross can focus on his own plans and plant the seeds of doubt that will allow him to get to the forefront. If he doesn't want to get involved with the investigation of the bombing, he can let that responsibility lie with the task force. 

"Okay. But you can only split your attention so many ways. Friday said she's taking on everything from Vienna?" Tony nods and mutters something about the data aspect. "What are you planning for Steve and Wilson to do?"

Tony huffs a humorless laugh. "Backup for when things fall to shit? I don't know. I think this guy will show up again, though, and it won't be because he wants to chat. Steve's good at knocking heads together, right?"

James squeezes Tony's shoulder. "I'm betting he can do more than that."

"Yeah. Sure. I just..." Tony slumps forward, elbows back on the counter. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. "God damn it," he breathes. "The guy who was taking the lead with opening up the Accords, King T'chaka, was killed. His son, T'challa, was _right there_. Couldn't save him, had to watch him die. He's in to help track our bomber, and I think he could do more, but.... He's focused on vengeance. I should have convinced him, told him to think of what his father would want, how many people he could help. But all I could think of was—" Tony cuts himself off with a sharp inhale.

James would pull away if Tony wasn't leaning into him so much. He knows what Tony's talking about, and it makes James want to scurry away, remove himself from Tony's sight. Bile rises in his throat and a rushed set of blurred memories assault his thoughts. Snow clinging to his eyelashes, the squeal of tires, bloodied face twisted in confusion and recognition, the easy give of flesh. James flinches hard, jarring himself out of the memories.

"—and I couldn't tell him how to feel," Tony finishes quietly. He slowly lifts his head from his hands. His skin is blotchy from the pressure of his palms and his eyes look redder than before. He sits up a little, supporting more of his own weight. James lifts his hand, preparing to pull back, but Tony reaches for him. Tony's fingers slip around James' wrist, firm enough to indicate what he wants. Their eyes meet and James sees Tony's emotional conflict and exhaustion clear as day. James' heart thuds in his chest, a steady pound that somehow makes him feel lightheaded.

"I'm sorry," James whispers, the apology falling from his lips without conscious thought.

Tony's lips curve down in a small grimace. His eyebrows pinch, creating a little furrow over his nose. "You have nothing to apologize for," he counters quietly.

James bites back the response he wants to give. Now is not the time for that argument. Tony looks haggard, a haunted look in his eye. James raises his free hand to cup Tony's cheek. The other man closes his eyes and tilts his face into James' palm. Telling himself not to over-think things, James leans forward to press their foreheads together.

"You need some rest," he tells Tony. "You're exhausted."

Tony huffs indignantly. "I've had far longer sessions without sleep. Everyone needs to calm down about this. There's a lot to—"

"Not alone. Your task force guy sent you out, right? Friday's on the data you can't spend time digging through. C'mon, Genius."

For long moments the kitchen is silent as they lean against each other, breathing warm against each other's lips. They're closer than they've ever been, and James wonders at how easy it is to stay like this. Tony didn't tense, maybe due to exhaustion, and James doesn't want to move away. He strokes his thumb along Tony's cheekbone. He bites his lip when he feels Tony's breath stutter across his mouth.

Tony's fingers squeeze James' wrists as he murmurs a quiet confession: "I can't stop, not with everything in my head." He tilts his head, gently bumping his nose against James'.

Swallowing against his nerves, James leans into the nuzzle. "Can I help?" He holds back on the _darling_ that almost slips out. He doesn't know what this is, doesn't want to throw too much out there.

Tony's mouth hovers a bare centimeter from James'. As he speaks, their lips brush. "If you want..." Tony's tongue darts out, licking a quick, teasing stripe over James' lips.

Without words, James accepts the invitation and presses in with a firm kiss. He slides his hand behind Tony's head to hold him in place as he darts his tongue out to explore.

They kiss for long minutes, perched on the edge of their stools. Tony's hands rub over James' back, applying firm pressure that soothes some of the tension James always carries. Under Tony's ministrations, he allows himself to relax some of his tightly held control, lets himself fall towards Tony and trust the other man to support him.

Tony makes the first move by sliding off his stool. His action causes their mouths to part, and James takes a moment to blink blearily. He stares blankly for a moment, taking in Tony's flushed cheeks and his dark eyes half-hidden by lowered eyelids. Tony's hands rub down James' arms. "C'mon, honey," he encourages, tugging at James' hands.

Agreeable to the beckon, James stands and lets Tony guide them slowly through the first floor towards the stairs. They stumble and pause, getting lost in further kissing and sliding hands under shirts. Tony mutters something about James wearing too many layers.

Eventually they make it to the stairs, and Tony turns around so that he's facing the right direction. He keeps one hand clasped around James', tugging him along. The hall is dark beyond the glow of the stair light but apparently Tony is fine in the dark up here. He leads them to the farthest door from the landing and pushes the door open. Tony leans up for a quick kiss before placing his palms against James' chest and pushing him into the room.

It takes a few moments of fumbling for Tony to find the bedside lamp and tug the chain. A warm glow bathes the room without getting too bright. The bed they're next to is larger than any James has slept in, but he gives it no more than a cursory look before he cups Tony's face and starts kissing down his jaw. Tony's hands move between their bodies, tugging James' shirts up to bare his belly. Tony murmurs quiet encouragement as kisses continue to pepper his cheeks. He busies his hands with undoing James' belt and making quick work of the pants' button and zipper.

James licks teasingly along Tony's lower lip before pulling back a little to glance down. Tony hooks his fingers into James' waistband, sliding smoothly against the skin of James' hip. Looking up through his lashes, Tony says, "You'll need to sit to get those boots off."

"Not the sexiest line," James points out with a small smile. Tony pinches his side, making James chuckle. Tony's expression brightens, and he leans in for a long kiss. 

It takes several minutes for them to fully lose their clothes. They keep getting sidetracked by exploratory touches and hungry kisses. They compete for the privilege of divesting each other of their clothes, sometimes ending up prolonging the undressing rather than moving things along. But it's worth it to James: the comfort of a warm body against his, smiling lips pressed to his cheek, the quiet, breathy laughter that brushes his ear. By the time they're both naked, Tony's straddling James' lap and is exploring James' mouth with his tongue.

James rubs one hand along Tony's back, slow strokes that press his palm against the knobs of Tony' spine. His left hand cradles Tony's thigh, squeezing gently as Tony moves against James, his motions wave-like in a slow roll that begins with not-enough friction against James' dick and ends with Tony rubbing his cock over James' stomach.

He feels overheated with the slow build that feels good but isn't _enough_. He tips his head back, gently disengaging their mouths so that he can get a good look at Tony. The other man pauses, pressed against James' stomach. His hands rest on James' shoulders as he blinks down. He hums a wordless question, gaze unfocused.

"Shh, don't worry, darlin'," James assures. He lifts his hand to run his fingers through Tony's hair. He grins at the way Tony leans against him heavily. "Just wanna see you, sweetheart."

Tony kneads James' shoulders. His lips spread into a lazy smirk. "You're a sap."

James doesn't know how he feels about the teasing accusation, so he elects to ignore it. He manages to encourage Tony to get up long enough that they can shove aside the blankets and lay down. They start with Tony on his back, James hovering over him as he licks his way down Tony's throat. The position doesn't last long. Tony hooks a leg around James waist and pushes; James moves with the roll and lays back as Tony settles astride his hips. Tony's too far away to kiss, but the inconvenience is balanced out by calloused hands splayed against James' chest and Tony's hips moving to press their lengths together. James' hands curve around Tony's waist, adjusting their angle so that each rocking motion provides the best pressure.

As they settle into a slow rhythm, Tony curls his fingers and drags his blunt nails lightly across James' chest. The touch sends tingles along his nerve endings that results in James bucking up roughly. Tony traces two fingers around a dusky nipple that James can feel perking up to attention. He murmurs encouragement and holds Tony firmly in place as he rocks his hips up.

Tony continues to tease until James grows impatient and wraps an arm around Tony's shoulders to tug him down. He swallows Tony's yelp of surprise and takes his time nibbling on Tony's lips. He hums contently as Tony's fingers thread through his hair. Their bodies continue to roll together, but it's only enough to build up the pool of warmth, not enough to tip them over the edge.

"What d'you want?" Tony mumbles against James' mouth. He tips his head, the next kiss sloppy as their noses brush.

James slips his hands down Tony's ass and squeezes briefly. "Wanna see you fall apart, darlin'," he says. He sneaks a kiss to the corner of Tony's mouth. "Doesn't hafta be complicated." _Just you,_ he doesn't say aloud.

Tony huffs a little laugh against James' cheek before shimmying lower. "Uncomplicated... Hmm, sounds fine." He mouths at the base of James' neck. 

James slips his right hand between their bodies and skims his fingers along Tony's pelvic bone. "Got some slick?"

"Might," Tony replies before locking his mouth over James' skin and sucking hard. It stings, but James allows it; he feels his pulse against his throat and imagines looking in the mirror later to see the love bite.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Tony drags himself towards the edge of the bed without losing much contact from James. He stretches for a drawer at the bedside table. While he investigates, James moves his hands slowly along Tony's back, gently kneading along the way. He appreciates the low, happy groans Tony makes. It doesn't take long for Tony to make a sound of triumph and worm his way back to press himself all along James' front. 

As Tony initiates another kiss, he presses a slim bottle into James' palm. James nudges Tony over so that they lay on their sides, face to face. He flips the cap on the bottle open and lets Tony take it back to squeeze out a small pool of lube into James' hand. Snapping the cap shut, Tony drags his fingers over James' palm and slicks his fingers.

Tony presses a light kiss against James' cheek as he reaches down and wraps his fingers around James' cock. James immediately returns the favor, curling his fingers in a firm loop and giving Tony a few gentle strokes.

"Don't need to keep dragging things out, honey." Tony chuckles, leaning his head against James'. 

"Thought you were the one teasin'," James counters. He looks down between their bodies to watch the movements of their hands. He swipes his thumb over the tip of Tony's cock. "I just wanna make you feel good, darlin'."

Tony threads the fingers of his free hand into James' hair and tugs lightly. "You are. Doing great there, Soldier." He presses their lips together and quickens the movement of his hand. James follows his lead and soon their kisses turn sloppy as they pant around small groans of pleasure. 

James feels the warm pressure ramp up low in his belly. He hooks his leg over Tony's hip, pulls their bodies together tighter as he turns his wrist and flicks his thumb over Tony's slit on every upstroke. When he comes, it's to the feel of Tony's hips stuttering against him and the wet spill of their combined spunk spreading between them.

Tony releases choked-off little moans as he rocks through his climax. His grip in James' hair tightens, like he's forgotten that he's holding on. His hand moves just the right amount to carry James through. James tucks his face against Tony's neck and mouths silent words he doesn't have the strength to utter aloud.

After, they make their way into the shower to wash up. James ends up taking control of the washcloth as Tony slowly slumps against him. Tony's barely awake by the time James turns off the water and manages to wrap a towel around him. Tony manages to shuffle back to bed with a little guidance. When James slips under the sheets next to him, Tony flops an arm over James' chest and bows his head against the metal shoulder. In moments, Tony settles into deep, rhythmic breathing. 

"What can I do?" James murmurs the question into the silence. He leaves the light on for a few minutes so that he can watch the man at his side. He strokes his fingers through Tony's hair and tucks an unruly strand behind his ear. He hopes the other man can get some sleep.

~ * ~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As can be seen, James and Tony have an established friendship. I'm not sure how much backstory will be shown "on screen," so I hope that the present implies enough of their connection.
> 
> I've got about two more parts divvied up for edits and posting, but new stuff is coming a little slower at the moment. I gotta kick my own butt and get working on the last leg of this writing journey...


	4. Chapter 4

It's dark and it's cold. Tony feels like his head is stuffed with cotton as he tries to remember how he got here. His nose tingles with numbness, and he thinks it's interfering with his sense of smell. It's... damp?

He stands up and reaches out, letting his hands feel his way forward. He trips as his foot collides with something large and solid. He flings his arms out to catch his balance, and in the process, ends up knocking his knuckles into a rough, uneven wall. He freezes for a long moment, breath catching in his throat. He turns his hand and presses his palm against the cool surface. He recognizes the feeling of rock, the uneven protuberances and the little perforations that hold onto moisture. 

Tony breaks out into a cold sweat as he starts scrabbling at the wall, searching for a cord that should be there and lead to a light. He moves along the wall, has to turn a corner, and keeps dragging his hands along. His fingers feel stiff from the chill and he barely feels the sting of the cuts scraped into his palms. Finally his hand hits something flat, not rock — wood. He curls his fingers as he inches along the new wall, searching for an edge that should reveal a door.

His heart pounds roughly in his chest, the reverberations making it a challenge to breathe regularly. He pauses to rub his sleeve over his sweaty brow. Why hasn't he found a light? Where's the exit?

When his fingers finally catch on a gap in the wood too straight to be a gouge, Tony almost sobs in relief. The air is heavy with a smell and taste he remembers too well even eight years later. He dreads getting lost in memories of inhaling stale water, a sensation that lurks on the edge of his slowly growing panic. He rubs his hands along the wooden surface in search of the door's edge, heedless of the wooden splinters catching in his skin and flaking off.

His fingers finally close around the doorknob and in desperation he twists it and yanks—

The door gives easily and smacks against him. Tony stumbles back, managing to stay upright thanks to the hold he maintains around the knob. He takes a couple moments to regain his balance and blink away the little star-bursts that had appeared in his vision with the smack. It takes some time to realize that low light is filtering into his rock-walled room. It's not enough to actually see anything, but it promises a proper light somewhere.

Tony steadies himself and steps beyond the doorway. He lifts his arms out to the sides and bumps against walls on either side of him.

As he walks down the hall, following the light, the feel of rock gives way to smooth walls covered with paint. The light comes around slowly, but even with its gradual brightening, Tony squints when the hallway falls away and he finds himself standing in his sunlit living room in Malibu. He shades his eyes as he looks around, noting how sterile it looks. The sun is setting, he realizes, which is why it's glaring straight in his eyes.

Not knowing why he's here or what to do, he steps down into the seating area and sits on the couch with his back to the setting sun. He glances around, slowly processing the details of a home long gone. Most of this should be at the bottom of the cliff, covered in water and debris. He shouldn't be here.

He hears the scuff of a shoe and sits up straighter. He stares at the curved wall hiding the entrance and waits. His heart thuds against his ribs, too fast, and shit, it _hurts_. Tony instinctively lifts a hand to his chest, and his palm presses against unforgiving metal. Shocked, Tony looks down and tugs at his shirt collar. He stares at the gnarled scars, some still puffy and pink, spreading out from the metal rim of the arc reactor. He tries to calm his breathing, it hurts, it _hurts_ like it hasn't for years. This isn't right, he knows that, but his head is still too full and confused.

A high-pitched whine startles him. Tony has just enough time to jerk his head upright before his muscles lock. He can't move, can barely _breathe_ now, and that has nothing to do with the reactor. As his body tips to the side, warm, steady hands brace him. They're familiar — firm, steady, and _trusted_ , damn it. Tony's eyelids are frozen open, and he's forced to see it all _again_.

Obie guides Tony back against the couch and, with some effort, moves Tony's stiff arms away from his chest. Obie's smile is fond and kind, the mask he'd worn so well. He doesn't gloat, doesn't even loom. He clasps his hands on Tony's shoulders and looks at him with that proud smile he'd worn when Tony had gotten his first doctorate. Why is he _smiling?_

Tony feels his eyes watering, and the first tear leaks down along his nose. Obie frowns at that, gaze tracing its path before lifting a hand to brush the tear away. Tony twitches, the closest he can get to flinching. He knows what should be coming — the "golden goose" and the cold, clawed machine; the eerie light dancing across Obie's face and casting it with shadows. 

That doesn't come, though. Obie pats Tony's shoulders one last time, stands up, and turns away. He disappears from sight. Tony whines, desperate to ask _why_ and call out for help. He doesn't understand, and none of this is right.

An open hand comes out of nowhere, and he barely sees it before he's slapped across the cheek. His paralyzed muscles don't allow him much movement and the force of the smack jars the muscles of his neck, unable to turn. Tears spill over his cheeks, burning the hot skin where the strike landed. It takes a few moments for the owner of the hand to cross into Tony's sight.

Ross looms above him, eyes narrowed calculatingly. He leans over, gaze trailing slowly down Tony's face, then lower. Tony hisses out a breath, but he's unable to form words. He still can't move beyond the involuntary tremors beginning to shake his frozen limbs. Unlike Obie, there is no kindness in Ross' expression. His lips suddenly slant in a pleased smirk. Tony can see the reactor's glow reflecting in the man's cold eyes.

"What would you give," Ross wonders aloud, "for your friends to roam free?" He leans in, hand bracing him against the back of the couch. "You could give them that little extra time. Let them wander out from beneath your wing, doom themselves all on their own. You're a bright man, Tony, you see the writing on the wall. I'm not the bad guy here. The world wants to deny monsters are real. When there are these 'fantastic' heroes of fantasy around, of course there are monsters. Surely getting rid of one will negate the other?" Ross chuckles and slaps a heavy hand on Tony's shoulder. "Idiotic, but we need to answer to the people, don't we? I'm just doing what needs to be done, Tony. You're just pushing off the inevitable."

Tony hisses out a slurred _No_ that Ross ignores.

"But maybe if you listen to me, follow my lead, you can protect them for a little longer." He looms closer, the reactor's blue light twisting strangely over his facial features. Tony can't look away. Ross moves his hand to the base of Tony's throat, pressing firmly. "A bright man, but not always so smart, are you? Seems fitting," he remarks as he drags his hand down. His palm presses hard against the reactor and his curled fingertips dig into the scar tissue around it. The pressure is enough to make Tony's breaths come out as little more than wheezes. "For a man who acted for so long like he had no heart to break, you wear it right here for anyone to see."

The hand on Tony's chest _shoves_ until it feels like his ribs are cracking. Tony can't scream when he feels the reactor slowly turn. Ross leans closer still, so close that Tony can only stare at the man's shoulder as he feels hot, fetid breath against his ear. "You could have saved them. But you failed."

 

Tony flings his arms out as soon as his muscles unlock. He gasps for breath despite the burning of his lungs. His arm smacks against a body and Tony recoils. He can't see, too lost with that last blurred image of Ross' shoulder. Tony digs the fingers of one hand into the blankets, and that's when the spiral of panic begins to slow. He leans heavily against the hand planted on the bed, letting the feel of the mattress ground him to the present. He blinks quickly, trying to adjust to the limited lighting of the room. He brings his free hand to his face to scrub at the wetness clinging to his eyelashes, hoping to clear his sight. He still can't see much since the only light is slipping through a part in the curtains.

"Tony?" a quiet voice prompts.

He jumps a little, startled by the noise. Tony sits up straight and tugs at the sheet tangled around his waist. It takes a moment for him to process the fact that he's sharing a bed with James.

"Do you want the lamp?" the other man asks.

"Yeah," Tony replies, grimacing at the rough quality of his voice. He shades his eyes with a raised hand as James turns on the lamp. He can't help thinking that the warm yellow glow is all wrong when he expects blue. He palms his chest and flinches at the first touch of scar tissue. It takes a concentrated effort not to start panicking over the lack of the unyielding metal that had made up the arc reactor.

James shifts on the bed, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them as he leans forward. He's close, but not far enough over to touch. 

"Need anything?" James continues using a low voice.

Tony shakes his head slowly while continuing to rub his chest. His breath stutters every few moments, lingering sensations from the nightmare tugging at his fears.

"It's only a quarter after four," James offers. "Don't have to rush anywhere, yet. Got some eggs downstairs. Still hungry?"

Tony opens his mouth, ready to agree to the suggestion, even if he's not hungry; however, the words that escape him are, "I don't know if I can do this." 

He might not be fully coherent, but he doesn't miss the way that James tenses, stilling so completely that he stops breathing for a long moment. Tony quickly reaches out, grasping desperately at James' nearest hand. "There's something going on _and I don't get it_ ," he hisses. 

James carefully folds his metal fingers around Tony's hand. 

Tony lets his gaze rest on their joined hands, focuses on the gleam of the light off the metal surface of James' joints. He's exhausted, he can admit that now, but there's no rest to be had, as evidenced by his most recent nightmare.

James rubs his thumb across Tony's knuckles in slow strokes. "What's next?" he asks.

Tony draws one of his knees up to his chest, hugging it close with his free arm. "Wait for Friday, pick the others' brains, connect with T'challa's people? If I knew what the hell we were looking for, I'd send Natasha out."

"What about the task force?"

"They're still examining the scene and conducting interviews. I'd like to have some answers before sitting down to try and hash things out, but they're going to be focusing too much on finding _you_ if I can't get them to back off." James squeezes his hand gently. Quietly, Tony continues, "With T'challa backing up our analysis, I'm hoping they don't accuse us of being swayed by Steve's faith in his bestie."

"I'm not that guy anymore," James retorts, tone low. When Tony glances up at him, James is looking away into the middle distance with a sharp frown.

"Sorry," Tony mumbles. He sits up and scrubs his hand over his face. His cheeks are sticky from dried sweat and tears. "Damn it. Let's just... I'm gonna hit the shower."

"I'll start some coffee," James offers. He guides their joined hands higher and brushes a kiss over Tony's knuckles. "Get some breakfast ready, too."

At the affectionate tone and actions, it feels like Tony's stomach flips . He doesn't know what to do with this. He leans over and presses his mouth to James'. They hold the kiss for a time, lips moving languidly without heating up. Tony eventually pulls back, pecks James on the cheek, and reluctantly slips his hand free as he turns to the edge of the bed.

James is silent and Tony doesn't look back, but he can feel James' gaze on him.

~ * ~ * ~

Tony is running his fingers through his hair to clear out the rest of the shampoo when he hears a sharp rap on the bathroom door before it opens.

"Uh, did you want to join me?" he asks, bemused. He steps to the back of the shower and tugs the curtain open a bit to peer out. His stomach drops when he gets a look at James' pale face. "What happened?"

James sets Tony's phone down on the counter and glances down at the screen. "Friday," he prompts quietly, expression drawn.

"Boss, there's something interfering in the systems at the task force HQ. The code is moving too quick for me to keep hold of. It's... it's not just a virus, Boss. I think it's like _me_."

Tony shoves the shower curtain aside and is halfway out before he realizes water is getting all over the floor. He belatedly turns off the water and turns to reach for a towel. James holds one out for him and Tony takes it.

"Okay, Fri. Walk me through it. When did you notice?"

"I think it's been in there a while," she admits hesitantly. "I'm sorry... There's so much of the Vienna data. But then I noticed a leak tracing over to the HQ and found it threading through the systems." She explains in more detail as Tony towels off. James exits the bathroom while the tech talk flies, though Tony can hear him moving around the bedroom. Friday eventually finishes, "I think it's an advanced intelligence, Boss. It's keeping me from getting information about the bomber's identity."

"Right. Okay." Tony exhales slowly, concentrating on easing his heart to a regular pace despite the sick twist in his stomach and the rushing thoughts tangling his mind. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he takes his phone and steps into the bedroom. James is waiting for him, sitting on the bed with Tony's clothes next to him. A second outfit lies next to the first, a plain suit that must have been in the closet.

"What does this mean?" James asks. Color has returned to his cheeks, and he holds himself at the ready, back straight and eyes holding determination.

Tony shakes his head as he starts getting dressed. "I'm thinking it over. I need to talk to T'challa's people, away from the task force. Hope his tech up to the task of keeping things between us."

"Could it be him?"

"I... don't know for sure." Tony frowns. "It wouldn't make sense. Not with how he's acting. I'll check with Natasha, though, she's the one who can read people. The fact that we have another AI running around... That's worrying me. I'm not sure who else has the technology to spawn a code that could develop far enough to adapt to Fri's moves." He clenches his hands in the fabric of his pants to hide a tremor. He hears the haunting taunt, _There are no strings on me._ No. Ultron's gone. "Vision!" he says abruptly.

Ignoring James' confused expression, Tony tells Friday, "We need Vision. I want him close-by to help you on this."

"I'll contact him right away, Boss," Friday agrees. After a moment, she continues, "What about Ms. Maximoff?"

Tony freezes, pants halfway done up as he remembers the young woman he'd quietly secluded to the Compound. Damn it. "She... she needs to stay there. If she crosses international borders right now, she'll be eaten alive. We're already in an international mess, we can't afford more trouble stirred up." He holds in a groan of frustration. "Give Viz a heads-up and let him know I'll call him in a bit. Maybe he can figure out how to encourage her to stay put."

James stands up as Tony pulls on his shirt. "Tony, what can I do?" The other man takes over buttoning Tony's shirt, his fingers quick and sure. 

Tony looks up, studying the tight clench of the other man's jaw. James may have been in hiding for years, laying low and out of sight, but he clearly isn't willing to stay out of the action any longer. Tony places his hands over James' as the last button is done. James meets his gaze, a silent question in his eyes. 

"Someone's looking for you." As soon as he says it, Tony realizes he's right. "They're looking for _you_." He frowns and feels like an idiot for not latching onto the idea sooner. "It was a setup. For some reason, they want _you_."

A flash of some emotion — vulnerable, maybe fear — passes over James' face, too quick to truly read, before his expression blanks. He pulls his hands from Tony's and steps back. "He bombed a meeting at the United Nations to get to me," he states flatly.

Tony rakes his fingers through his hair. "Yes. Maybe? Look, none of it really makes sense — but framing you? The investigation locating you within hours in Bucharest?" His mind is hopping from one idea to the next, almost too fast to process. "You're supposed to be in custody by now. We averted that, but there's something out there interfering with Friday's ability to identify our bomber. I need to find out what it's doing in the task force systems."

"So you're going back to Berlin."

"At first, definitely. Might make a trip back to Vienna, do some physical scouting. Fri, how much progress were you able to make before running into the interference?"

"I tracked the vehicle used. I believe the perpetrator switched over to it, as I have another vehicle arriving in the vicinity shortly before, and it was stolen. I've run into trouble tracing further back, but I'm still working on it."

Tony tucks his phone away in a pocket. "Alright, send what you can to the suit. Keep sharp and make sure to keep yourself safe, baby girl. Let Vienna go if you have to."

"I'm quite capable of holding my own," she retorts. Tony's lips twitch in a smile.

James places a hand on Tony's arm. His eyes are serious when their gazes meet. "Am I supposed to stay here?"

Tony runs through the possibilities in his mind. Truthfully, he isn't sure anymore. He hesitates to answer, and he sees resignation settling over James' expression. "I think it's more risky to be on the move when you could be monitored." The other man grunts quietly, his only response. Tony raises a hand to James' cheek and apologizes, "I'm sorry. I know it sucks to lay low. Friday can keep you in the loop. Maybe there's something you'll see that we don't." He brushes his thumb along James' lower lip. "And... if you think of a reason someone wants you in the open, let me know."

James stares at him incredulously. "The Winter Soldier," he points out.

"Well, yeah." Tony rolls his eyes. "But more specific." He leans in to peck a quick kiss to James' lips; the urge was instinctual and the motion feels natural. "I gotta go."

James' hand tightens on Tony's arm, keeping him close. He uses his free hand to tilt Tony's chin up so that their gazes lock. "Be careful."

"Always am," Tony quips with a plastic grin. Not allowing the other man to protest, Tony presses a firm kiss against the mouth an inch from his own. James responds by parting his lips and licking into Tony's mouth. The kiss is more intense than Tony anticipated, and he gets lost for a few moments.

Eventually James pulls back, and his grip on Tony's arm loosens. "Go."

Tony steps away with a nod. "Stay safe," he says, and it comes out almost like an order. Now that he suspects James is truly at the heart of all this, Tony feels a knot of dread and fear settling in his gut.

James makes no promises, but he acknowledges Tony's words with a nod.

As Tony lifts off from the roof as Iron Man, he makes a conscious effort to focus on the call with Vision rather than memories of his hours spent with James.

~ * ~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more part predesignated for a quick edit and post. After that, though, I have some scenes that I'm more iffy about. I'll try to get that sorted out sooner rather than later so that I can keep posting.
> 
> I've been lax with making more progress, so I haven't finished writing this story. I'm planning to put writing into my schedule for the week, though, so fingers crossed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam channels the author's incredulous questions regarding the original CACW.

Sam jerks awake, not sure at first what caught his attention. He braces himself on his elbows and peers through the darkness of the room in search of a clue. He hears the faucet in the bathroom running. Natasha's slim silhouette rises from the bed next to Sam's.

"What's up?" he asks her, words sleep-muddied and slightly slurred.

"Visitor," she responds. She passes by the foot of his bed, heading for the closed curtains covering the balcony doors. She pulls back the curtain, which lets early dawn light slant into the room from around the shape standing outside. Natasha unlocks the door and slides it all the way open to make room for Iron Man to step through.

Feeling much more alert, Sam pushes himself upright and reaches over to turn on the bedside lamp.

"What's your read on his royal catness?" Tony asks as soon as he flips up the face plate. His attention is focused on Natasha. She purses her lips thoughtfully as she draws the curtains over the doors again. "Any reason at all he could know more about what's happening than he's letting on?"

Natasha turns around to fix him with a speculative stare. "If you're asking about him having any foreknowledge about foul play at the meeting, absolutely not. He was there with his father for a cause they believed in. He's devastated by the loss of his father, to the point of having tunnel vision. If you're asking about his knowledge of the investigation, I think that's a different matter."

Tony nods curtly. "Thought the same." He turns so that he can look towards the front of the hotel room where Steve's come out of the bathroom and is listening to the exchange with his arms crossed. "Looking as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, Cap. You get any sleep?"

"Could ask the same," the blond replies pointedly, but that's all they say on the matter. "Why are you asking about T'challa?"

"We have some complications," Tony answers with a flat tone. He sweeps his glance around the room, meeting everyone's eyes. "Friday, we in the clear?" he asks. His chin dips in brief acknowledgment of whatever response he hears. "Task force may be compromised," he announces without preamble.

"What?" Sam exchanges a worried look with Steve.

"How so?" Natasha prompts.

"I don't know to what extent, but Friday's found something worming through their systems."

Steve points out, "Sounds like you're doing some digging, yourself." Tony casts him a sour look.

"I take it you're not talking about a standard virus," Natasha interrupts. When Tony shakes his head, she wonders, "Can Friday find the source even if she can't clear it out?"

"She's filtering a lot right now," Tony admits quietly, gaze darting low and to the side. "I've called Vision in for help. This thing in the system is acting like an AI. It moves too quickly, defensive but also proactive — it's damn hard to program something like that."

"Who else can manage that?" Sam asks. Tony's one of the top people in the world of tech, and he's even higher when it comes to advanced robotics and artificial intelligence, as far as Sam knows.

Tony grimaces. "Trying to figure that out."

"Thus asking about T'challa," Natasha surmises. She arches an eyebrow at the surprised looks cast her way. "I don't know what's going on in Wakanda, but clearly T'challa has access to and familiarity with advanced technologies." To Sam and Steve she explains, "Tony sent a message last night that the prince has found evidence of abnormalities in the surveillance on his own."

"Viz is going to help me look into things." Tony raises a hand towards his face, like he's going to rub it, but catches himself last minute. He glares briefly at his gauntlet before dropping his arm back to his side. "All of this means treading carefully when you're in the building or with any of the task force."

"Are you going to tell anyone?" Steve asks.

"Who, though?" Sam counters, frowning thoughtfully.

There's another moment of silence before Tony speaks. "The deputy commander seems okay and like the type of guy who'd want to work on cleaning up. It's a matter of how to let them know."

"Then you'd have to explain _how_ you know," Sam guesses.

Tony shrugs, the movement stifled while in armor. "Honestly, I'm pretty sure they expect me to at least poke around their systems. Doesn't make them happy, but they're the ones asking me to consult."

"So what's the hold-up?" Steve wonders. His gaze narrows suspiciously, seeming to pick up on some microexpression Sam can't detect; Natasha also looks curious. "Tony?"

For a moment, Tony closes his eyes. He reaches up to detach the helmet. His hair is a mess and it looks more than a little damp, as if he'd barely finished a shower before donning the suit.

"I don't know who all Everett is going to include in the know when he gets an update about the investigation." Tony frowns pensively at the helmet in his hands. "With T'challa separately verifying that the surveillance footage of Barnes _isn't_ Barnes, we've got a way to refocus the investigation in a different direction."

Steve makes a tight noise of frustration. "Why not report that right away?"

"Needed it to pass accusations of bias," Natasha reminds them. They'd had the argument last night.

"And something was nagging at me," Tony adds. He raises his eyes to meet Steve's gaze. "It was a setup. An elaborate setup to get at one person in particular."

"Bucky?"

"The Winter Soldier," Natasha corrects.

"Are you sure?" Sam asks, running through recent events in his mind. "Pretty extreme setup, then. And to what end?"

"Find him and round him up," Tony explains, expression grim. "His position in Bucharest was identified quickly, and the forces dispatched would bring him into custody at a predictable location. Somebody wants to be able to pin him down."

Steve looks a little ill at the suggestion. "To use him again?"

Tony frowns tightly and shakes his head a little. He doesn't seem to know any better than the rest of them.

Natasha takes a seat at the foot of Sam's bed, eyes narrowed in thought. "Perhaps," she eventually says. "But it could also be information that someone's after. Not everything would have been recorded in the files Hydra wrapped up within S.H.I.E.L.D."

"How are we going to know what they're looking for, then?" Sam asks. "Would Barnes even know?" They don't have a full account of what Barnes has been through over the decades as the Winter Soldier. However, between Natasha's original files that she'd managed to unearth for Steve and some records uncovered from the combined dumped files, they have enough information to understand that Barnes' Winter Soldier programming involved traditional conditioning techniques along with technological aids. The people in charge had wanted a weapon without free will, a blank slate who would be obedient and ruthless.

"Depends on how well his memory's holding up," Tony mutters, gaze boring into the helmet in his hands.

"That's a moot point when we don't know where he is," Steve notes. His expression is pinched, and his fingers tap restlessly against his arms. "Where'd he go? I know he's resourceful enough to get out of there if he caught wind of being pursued. Safe to say that's what happened, given what he left behind." Steve has one notebook, filled with hastily scratched notes about flashes of memory — most dark enough that Sam anticipates upcoming nightmares. Even if they can prove Barnes isn't at fault for current events, the contents of his notebooks will do more than just raise a few eyebrows.

"He's kept out of sight for years," Natasha says, "so what outed him now?"

Tony suddenly puts his helmet back on and asks, "Fri, show me the record of the tip that pointed to Romania."

"Share with the class, Tony," Natasha chides, not unkindly.

"Captures from the footage featuring Barnes' face made it out to public media in record time. Too fast. Damn it," Tony curses. "Should've noticed this sooner. His image went out within an hour after the attack — news sources, social media, law enforcement. Reached all across Europe and into the Middle East, so our guys were either taking a gamble or had reason to believe he was in this part of the world. The tips reported in came from some people who spotted him in a market and two tenants in the building the task force raided."

"This still seems like a ridiculous amount of work for a plan that has a lot of possible outcomes," Sam says. There are a lot of variables at play if the goal of all of this is for one man.

The face plate flips up again to reveal Tony's pinched expression. "There might be more to it. The UN is in disarray and the Accords are on hold. The Winter Soldier's identity is in question, but there's already consensus that he's enhanced. That doesn't put the rest of us in a good light, especially in the wake of Lagos." He holds up a hand towards Steve before the blond opens his mouth. "I _know_ , Steve, and I agree it could've been far worse. Doesn't change the public perspective."

"That doesn't really help point us in the direction of who we're looking for, does it?" Sam scrubs his hands over his face. Barely awake and he's already feeling a stress headache coming on. "So let me get this straight: we can safely assume Barnes isn't to blame and was framed; his framing casts more doubt on Avengers and enhanced individuals; someone probably _wants_ Barnes in particular; and there's an unknown AI hacking through the systems of the task force investigating the situation."

Tony grimaces but nods.

"Suggested next steps?" Natasha prompts.

Steve speaks first. "The task force needs to know they're looking for the wrong man."

Tony nods shortly. "I'll contact T'challa so we present our findings together."

"Are you going to tell Ross about the breach in their systems?" Sam asks.

Tony looks at Natasha for that one. After a long stretch of silence, the redhead shakes her head. "Not yet," she determines. She looks back at Sam and then to Steve. "We need more information about who's involved in the investigation, and I want a better read on Ross to find out how he'll react and who he'll tell."

"They'll already know someone's onto them," Tony points out wearily.

"Then we'd better move fast to figure out if there's someone on the inside involved," Steve determines. Natasha nods and stands up. "Up for this, Sam?"

"Whatever you say, Cap."

Tony flips the faceplate down again. "Friday will let you know if she finds anything helpful. In the meantime, I'll meet with Deputy Ross and Prince T'challa." He's taken two steps toward the balcony when Steve addresses him.

"Hey, Tony?" The armor pauses. "Thanks... for clearing Bucky."

"It isn't done yet," Tony warns.

"Maybe I just like your odds," Steve replies with an easy shrug. "Um... I was wondering if you could try tracking him. Bucky. I want to make sure he's okay, and if they're after him for information, maybe we should talk to him first."

Sam wonders why Tony's fingers fold into fists. The man's tone reveals nothing when he responds, "I'll see what I can do, Cap. No promises." Once he has the door open and one armored boot planted on the balcony, Tony looks back at them. "Watch yourselves. See you in a bit."

Natasha claps her hands together once, drawing Sam's attention away from the sound of Iron Man taking off. "Ready in ten, gentlemen," she announces. Sam scrambles out of bed and dashes to the bathroom for a quick wash-up.

~ * ~ * ~

James eats the half-prepared breakfast he'd been making when Friday interrupted. He eats alone, barely tasting the food. He cleans up before heading into the downstairs office he'd found last night. With Friday's help, he gets set up on the computer with access to all the files she's been compiling with Tony's and Romanov's input.

He spends hours reading through the notes and examining images, searching for a clue about how he fits into things. Besides being framed for the bombing, he doesn't see how he's supposed to be involved.

"Mr. Barnes," Friday alerts him a moment before his screen fills with a new video. Images fill the screen of smoke pouring out of a gaping, blown-out hole spanning the top three floors of a building. There aren't any headlines running, which likely means that the AI is providing him with footage yet to be aired by news outlets. He doesn't recognize the building, although he thinks the half-destroyed sign sagging off the roof is for a hotel.

"When did this happen?" he asks.

"The explosion occurred ten minutes ago." Friday's tone is clipped, almost strained. James feels a sinking sensation in his gut. He doesn't have to ask further questions, as Friday starts explaining unprompted. "Boss is staying in the penthouse. Ms. Romanov, Mr. Wilson, and Captain Rogers are booked on the fourteenth floor. Boss has established connection, but I am trying to locate the others." 

James stares numbly at the images Friday provides: footage from new angles and of varying quality, clearly from a variety of hacked sources. As he watches, he sees Iron Man hover alongside the crumbling edges of the ragged hole where the explosion originated. The armor doesn't stay there long, quickly disappearing inside the building. Helicopters begin to appear in the sky.

"I have located the others, Mr. Barnes," Friday announces. "Captain Rogers and Ms. Romanov were at ground level during the time of detonation. Mr. Wilson has checked in, as well. They are all assisting with evacuation."

"Tony?" he manages to ask between clenched teeth.

"Boss is busy examining the immediately affected floors for survivors. Several paths to exit stairwells have been blocked by debris."

James continues to watch the footage. His mind seems to buzz with a mindless hum as he observes the movements on screen, and he just feels... numb. He _knows_ this is a message, another call for the Soldier to appear. It's another city, a civilian building, one that just so happens to have been housing members of the Avengers. No, more than that — _Steve_ was there. James stares at the collapsed or collapsing top floors.

"How many floors?" he rasps the question.

"Penthouse is floor nineteen. Thus far the most damage appears to be on the top three floors due to explosives set on the eighteenth floor."

_Tony_ was there.

James feels a cold sense of calm settle over him, dulling the anxious buzz of his mind. Steve was surely a target in aiding their plan to lure James out, but deadly force was targeted close to the top. Somehow they figured out a connection between Tony and James. 

He doesn't understand why they — whoever they are — want him, but he has no more doubt that they do. 

"They won't stop," he murmurs to himself.

"Mr. Barnes?" Friday asks quietly.

James starts shutting down the computer. "I need your help keeping me off everyone's radar until I reach Berlin," he tells her.

Friday's voice transfers to the phone in his pocket. "You need to stay here. Boss wants to know why you're being called out before you chance being seen and detained."

"It's gonna take too long figuring that out while I keep my head down," he retorts. James pushes away from the desk and starts gathering up a handful of supplies. "Someone's figured out Tony knows about me. You want him in more danger?" Friday hesitates, and he knows he'll win her over. He explains, "I get to Berlin, turn myself over to the task force for their investigation. Say I'm clearing my name."

"But it isn't safe," Friday protests, although it sounds halfhearted.

"But it _is_ contained. Tony's there, so're you, and some Avengers. More control than if we wait for these guys to track me down," he reasons. He can't keep running, not anymore. There's something happening now that he can't turn his back on. "I'm going, with or without your help."

He lets her think about it as he does his best to set things to rights around the house and pulls on his jacket and cap.

Just as he's getting ready to press his point, Friday speaks. "Mr. Barnes, please return to the office for an in-ear communication unit. It will be easier for me to guide you."

"Thanks."

"I will be informing Boss of this when he is not occupied."

James smiles tightly. He wouldn't expect any less.

~ * ~ * ~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a million to all the kudos and bookmarks and lovely comments of support. :)

Sam smiles tightly at his nurse as she gathers up her supplies and tidies up the countertop. The nurse and Natasha exchange a few more words in German, then Natasha points him towards the door. He nods politely to the nurse and exits with a murmured _"Danke."_

Natasha leads the way down the hallway and into a stairwell. She hesitates on the landing, turning around to eye Sam up and down in silent question.

"It's fine. I feel better moving, anyway," Sam tells her. He might not go running down the stairs, but they aren't exactly in a rush at the moment, either. "So, where are we headed?"

"Back to the office. Vision is in soon and will head there," she says as she falls into step beside him. Her phone pings, and she pulls it out at an angle that blocks the screen from Sam's view.

"Are Steve and Tony still here?" he asks. He hasn't seen Tony outside of the armor since the explosion rocked through the hotel.

"Car's waiting downstairs," Natasha says without answering his question. "Looks like Vision isn't the only one making the international trip." Her pinched expression isn't encouraging.

"You mean...?"

Natasha shoots him a sidelong glance. "Ross."

Great.

Steve is standing by the back door of a sleek, black SUV when Natasha and Sam reach the parking garage. Although the words are muffled, Sam can hear a man shouting heatedly inside. He arches an eyebrow at the blond in silent question.

"Tony."

"Where's the driver?" Natasha asks, circling around the front of the car.

"Tony booted him out, not that the guy really protested." Steve points Sam towards the front seat. "I'll sit in the back with him, don't worry about it." He turns his head to glance over his shoulder. Quietly he explains, "He's taking the attack hard. And Ross is on his way."

"What's that mean for us?" Sam asks. His friend shrugs helplessly.

"Get in, boys, and let's figure it out," Natasha orders.

Sam exchanges a weary look with Steve before he takes his seat.

~ * ~ * ~

After finishing another (fruitless) phone call with Secretary Ross, Tony excuses himself from the conference room in order to find a few minutes of solitude. He slips down the hall into the bathroom and locks the door. He leans back and closes his eyes, just taking a moment to _breathe_ — even if the air stinks with the overly chemical deodorizer. He lets the hum of the room's vent fan block the muffled sounds of the busy hallway outside. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, a short series of vibrations with pauses to let him know it's Friday contacting him directly. With a sigh, he straightens up and digs it out of his pants pocket. "What's up, baby girl?" he asks as he moves to the sink. He sets the phone to the side on the counter and starts running the water to splash on his face.

"Boss, I apologize—"

"What?" Tony looks sharply at the phone sitting innocuously beside him. "What happened?" He twists the faucet handles off and waits for the answer. He doesn't like that Friday hesitates.

"After informing Mr. Barnes of the situation here, he made a valid argument to leave."

Tony sags heavily against the countertop as a wave of vertigo threatens to buckle his knees. He isn't sure he manages to voice a question, but Friday continues, regardless.

"He is preparing to turn himself in to an environment in which we have a modicum of control."

"No," Tony denies, shaking his head. "No, no, this is _not_ a good plan. When did he leave?" He reaches for the paper towels and tries to ignore how his hands are shaking.

"Six hours ago," Friday admits.

Tony sucks in a shocked breath and this time his knees do buckle, but he manages to brace himself by grabbing the towel dispenser. "What?" he gasps. His pulse thunders painfully in his chest and echoes with the throbbing in his head "Why didn't you tell me _right away_?" he demands.

"He made a valid argument, Boss."

"No! You don't get to keep something like thi—"

"You always said he's to have a choice," Friday interrupts. Unlike a human, she doesn't raise her voice or inject a tone of recrimination. She states the reminder simply.

And Tony does remember. Back when he'd first listened to Steve talk out his plans for retrieving his friend, and had then found Barnes' trail on his own, Tony had hesitated before making a move. Back then, it was JARVIS at his side. JARVIS had devised a graduated approach to making contact, and the first time Tony really got to _see_ Barnes, saw the wide eyes of a desperate man looking like he was caught in a trap, Tony was relieved that his AI had steered him toward a slow approach without involving Steve. The first time that Barnes — _James_ — ever relaxed was when Tony looked him in the eye with thirty feet of damp alley between them and placed a phone on the ground with a simple, "Call me sometime." It had been one of the hardest things he'd had to do: step back and turn away before taking off. When, weeks later, James finally _did_ call, Tony made up his mind. He told JARVIS, _"We always give him a choice."_

In the present, Tony swallows hard and has to focus getting his feet back under him before he can speak.

"Why?" he mutters.

"Your theory of someone wanting to draw out the Winter Soldier holds true. His connection to you seems likely compromised, and the most recent attack targeted people he knew. The attempts to draw him out won't stop. He— _we_ believe the best course of action is to emerge on his own terms and examine what happens once he is within custody."

Tony presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, wishing he could shove away the damn headache making it hard to gather his thoughts. "Deputy Ross isn't so dead-set anymore about tracking him down," he points out. His conversation with the commander and T'challa had gone rather well. Although the Winter Soldier is still of interest, Ross has dropped the blinders that could have prevented the task force from investigating other avenues.

"Mr. Barnes is still a person of interest. And I have a suggestion..."

"Yeah?" Tony prompts wearily.

"We will require Ms. Romanov's assistance."

~ * ~ * ~

Sam looks away from the monitors when the door of the conference room opens. Tony walks in, face pale but expression determined. His complexion highlights the darkening circles under his eyes. His gaze flicks over Sam quickly as he walks past. Sam turns his head to follow the other's man's progress into the room, his instincts tingling with the sense that something happened in the handful of minutes Tony was out of the room.

"Tony, Rhodes identified a few suspicious border crossings with Friday's help," Steve says when he looks up.

"Anything on the people involved?" Tony asks, though he doesn't look very invested in the answer.

Sam manages to catch Natasha's gaze and sees his own suspicion reflected back at him.

With a sigh, Steve shakes his head. "No, but it's all that's turning up from Vienna at this point."

"Might as well pass it to the task force, anyway." Tony waves a hand toward the clear wall behind him. "Maybe they have something to exchange."

Shrugging, Steve fiddles with the tablet in front of him. "Do you really suspect they'd know more than you and Friday?"

Tony's smile is tight. "Never know. Want to go check in?"

Steve hesitates a moment, looking up at Tony with a slightly narrowed gaze. "You want me to go?"

"I'm saving up my patience to deal with our oh-so-charming Secretary of Defense," Tony says flatly.

Steve grimaces sympathetically. "Right. Yeah, I'll go for now." He stands up and takes the tablet with him. "Anything else I should share?"

"Friday, create an appropriate summary of our progress," Tony directs.

"Got it, Boss," Friday speaks up from the tablet's speakers. 

Steve claps Tony on the shoulder before he leaves, then waves at the others on the way out the door.

"Friday, tell me when we're covered," Tony murmurs lowly.

As soon as the AI gives the signal, Natasha demands, "What's going on, and why did you need Steve out of the room?"

Tony drops into a seat opposite Natasha and waves Sam over. "We're about to add another complication," he replies tiredly.

"There's a way to do that?" Sam wonders.

"It unfortunately can always get worse," Tony mutters. He shakes his head before glancing between Natasha and Sam. He looks reluctant to speak; his mouth twists into an unhappy grimace and his gaze skitters away to the side. "I know where Barnes is."

" _What?_ " Sam exclaims, half-rising out of his chair.

Natasha's eyes narrow. "How long have you known?" she asks quietly.

Tony tries to wave her off. "A while." Sam gapes. "That's not the part that matters," Tony hurries to continue. He looks back at them with determination. "What we need to worry about is the fact that he's heading here and will probably reach the city within the next two hours."

Sam sits back and looks between the others. "That's not good. They're gonna bring him in." 

Tony responds with a tight nod.

"But we need that, and we need to make sure he comes _here_ ," Natasha observes, clearly catching onto something that Sam hasn't yet. "With the bugs in the system and likely enemy agents within the task force, they could intercept Barnes and bring him elsewhere," she explains, glancing at Sam. 

Yeah, that makes unfortunate sense. "Here we'd at least have some control," he concludes with a grimace.

"Along with the chance to draw out the agents," Natasha adds.

Tony rakes his fingers through his hair. "I hate that you think alike," he grumbles, which confuses Sam.

Natasha seems to get it since she arches an eyebrow and deadpans, "Espionage 101." The other man hums an acknowledgment. 

"So... what do we tell Steve?" Sam asks hesitantly. He immediately finds himself pinned by two hard stares.

"We _can't_ until Barnes is in custody," Tony states firmly. He rolls over Sam's protest by raising his voice, "You were there with him when he ran off to Bucharest. That can't happen again. James made his choice in this, and as much as I hate it, it might be our best chance to figure out what the hell is going on."

"James, huh?" Natasha mutters quietly, shooting Tony a speculative look. "Sam, we need to get Barnes here as smoothly as possible. It will be best if it seems he's surrendering to clear his name. We need as little disturbance as possible to make sure there's no excuse to use excessive force to bring him in. We don't want him disappearing because it gets too dangerous for him or the planted agents are able to smuggle control of him."

"Exactly," Tony agrees on a sigh. His stare fixed on Sam eases a little, leaving behind weariness. "It sucks lying to Steve, I get it. _Believe_ me, I do. But there's something bigger at play here, and we need to deal with it. The timing of everything, even Ross flying in _now_ , is putting me on edge. We need to stop playing catch-up and pull ahead somehow."

"This is an opportunity we can't lose," Natasha agrees.

"Besides," Tony mutters as he drags his hand over his face, "he's already made up his mind. All we can do now is back him up. That's why I need you." He directs his gaze at Natasha. "You and Vision need to be on the retrieval team."

"What about—?" Sam starts.

"You weren't getting ready to sign the Accords," Natasha points out. She arches an eyebrow at Tony. "Is Vision here?"

Friday chimes in, "He is on his way to the building as you speak. Also, Mr. Barnes is approximately an hour and ten minutes out. We are avoiding general detection currently, but will need to determine the point at which he is noticed in order to begin."

"I kinda wish I could un-hear all of this," Sam announces with a groan. He slumps back in his chair and glances nervously at the hallway. "Steve is gonna be so pissed when he finds out." Natasha's face is blank of emotions, but at least Tony appears chagrined.

Quietly, Tony explains, "It won't help to hear it from me, but James made his choice. He didn't want to be found."

Sam holds up a hand and shakes his head, trying to jostle away some of the exhaustion that hits him. "I don't even know, man. I just hate that I'm getting tangled up in this now and not even able to _do_ anything about it."

"I'm sorry," Tony murmurs, and he genuinely looks it. In the face of that sincerity, Sam feels his irritation settle. He doesn't know the full story, he acknowledges, and if Barnes really had made a choice to stay low, how is Sam supposed to call that right or wrong?

"Want to go find us some coffee while we make plans, Sam?" Natasha suggests.

The less he knows about the details, the less likely that he'll let something slip to Steve. Sam nods and pushes himself upright. "I'll take my time," he tells them as he heads for the door.

~ * ~ * ~

James sits in the back of the prisoner transport with four armed guards, the Vision, and Natasha Romanov. He knows that in the front of the truck are three more guards, fully armored and armed. Although his instinct is to keep his head high and look around, he keeps his chin tilted down and lowers his eyes. Romanov sits across from him, dressed casually except for the Widow's Bites on her wrists; he can tell by the fall of her shirt that she's also wearing a protective vest. The Vision sits to his left, seemingly unarmed, but if James understands the being correctly, the android doesn't need anything extra.

His forearms are bound with thick, metal cuffs. He hasn't tried the bonds, not wanting to give anyone an excuse to get trigger happy. He doubts the metal would hold if he struggled with it, but he wonders if there's anything extra in them to try and detain an enhanced human. His ankles are bound together with a short chain between. For now, multiple loops of cable run through both sets of cuffs, attaching him to the floor and ensuring he can't straighten up.

Romanov stares at him silently, expression impassive. She gives nothing away, and he wonders just how much faith she has in this plan. Vision sits with his palms pressed lightly to his thighs, his back straight, and he looks almost meditative. Both Avengers get the occasional side-eye from the guards, but the men and women on hand are no slouches; their primary focus is James.

He counts the passing seconds in his mind and pays attention to the bumps in the road that rock him against Vision. He observes the people around him and searches for familiarity or some sign that hints at their allegiance. He holds himself carefully, _breathes_ carefully, in order to keep everyone calm. He can't afford to give anyone the excuse to take him out of sight of the Avengers or to detour him to a location where Friday doesn't have familiarity. He doesn't know what's next in the process, and he _hates_ that he can't control it, but he believes he can trust Tony, and Steve, in his own way, to keep him as safe as possible. It doesn't make being exposed any easier, unfortunately.

Someone up front raps harshly on the little closed window dividing the two sections of the vehicle. The guards in the back shift, preparing for arrival. Romanov slides forward in her seat. She flexes her wrist, causing a little spark to dance between the tips of her weapons — a warning. James notices that the guard next to her, someone who's looked especially tense the entire ride, relaxes a little. Having the Avengers here was well worth it. He wonders how Steve's taking the news of James' appearance. Before he'd had to get rid of his phone, Friday had informed him that Romanov, Wilson, and Vision were aware of his arrival, but Steve would find out at the same time as the task force.

_Can't go rushin' in blind, Stevie,_ he muses as the vehicle slowly crosses a speed bump. A minute later, they park. 

~ * ~ * ~

Tony flicks his gaze beyond Ross' shoulder to the monitors whenever he gets the chance. He somehow manages to keep himself outwardly still, but his insides feel like they're twisting into knots as he anxiously waits for the prisoner transport to arrive with James. Fortunately, Tony doesn't have to pay much attention to Ross for the moment; the man is busy retreading old territory and espousing the dangers of unregulated super-humans. It's nothing new, though it continues to be a dangerous path towards policies Tony hopes to avoid. If the United Nations can move along the Accords talks and establish an international set of policies and guidelines, there will be some protections against the laws Ross is not-so-quietly working on behind the scenes. Things could all too easily go pear-shaped and result in the future Steve imagined when he first heard of the Accords. _That's not what they are,_ Tony thinks at the past Steve in his head. _Don't turn your back automatically, Steve. You'll doom yourself to the fate you fear._

Ross is in the middle of gloating about how his views of unrestrained super-human activity have been proved right when Tony finally sees the truck passing into the parking lot. He doesn't realize how intently he's watching the screen until Ross stops talking. They both face the monitors as James is led out of the back of the armored vehicle, guided by Vision.

"So, you say he wasn't responsible for Vienna?"

Tony forces his gaze back to Ross. "It wasn't him. I've been over the footage multiple times, and technicians from Wakanda have supported my conclusions. The man caught on film wasn't Barnes. Besides, he was identified hundreds of miles away almost immediately after the bombing. He couldn't have gotten that far."

"As I understand it, he wasn't found in Bucharest," Ross counters. There is a small uptick at the corner of his mouth, a barely contained smirk as he challenges Tony. He's always pushing and prodding, little jabs to test Tony's boundaries.

"No, he wasn't. He's also managed to stay out of sight since DC," Tony points out. He makes himself lean back, sitting on the edge of the table. It makes his skin itch to sit back, it feels too much like Ross is looming, but the man is all about power and dominance; it isn't yet time for Tony to challenge that.

"We'll find out what he has to say for himself." Ross waves a dismissive hand at Tony as he turns more fully to the screens where James is surrounded by guards and marched along the way towards a detention room. "Good thing we had appropriate containment procedures in place, isn't it?" Ross asks with a satisfied grin. Tony refrains from comment, though he knows he doesn't quite manage to contain his sneer. He has some questions about the convenient presence of a reinforced chamber in the building, supposedly strong enough to detain an individual with enhanced strength or abilities to manipulate energy. (Who had managed to make that? And how had Tony _not_ known about it before?)

"Now that he's turned himself in, we'll be able to take Sergeant Barnes home. Make sure he gets the help he needs," Ross continues, his grin shifting as he makes a poor attempt at sounding sympathetic. 

Tony curls his fingers over the edge of the table and digs his fingertips against the hard surface. Through a bland smile, he agrees, "He deserves access to services that can handle severe cases of PTSD, I imagine."

Ross muffles a snort. His eyes glint with the reflection of the security feed he's watching. "There's already a shrink on the way. He'll get Barnes' story and start the eval. We need to clarify his involvement here before Interpol lets us take him."

Before Tony can respond, Steve shoves the door open and storms into the room with fire in his eyes. He's clenching his teeth hard enough that it's visible. In hopes of reducing possible damage, Tony quickly stands up and shoots Steve a warning look.

"Mr. Secretary, I'm sure you can spare us a moment," Tony skirts the edge of request and order.

Ross doesn't mask the smug tilt of his lips. He glances at Tony and waves a dismissive hand. "Take your time. I have... interview arrangements to make." He wisely keeps his distance from Steve as he heads for the door. Tony has to lunge forward to grab Steve's shoulder and keep him in place.

"Stay here," Tony hisses under his breath.

Fortunately for them, Ross doesn't turn on his way out. Unfortunately for Tony, the deadly glare Steve had fixed on Ross' back shifts to him.

"What the hell, Tony?" The blond jerks away from Tony's hold. "You could have given me a heads-up!"

Tony gives himself a few moments to respond by walking to the door and locking it. He turns back around and finds that he can't quite bring himself to meet the other man's piercing glare. "There wasn't much time betw—"

"Don't feed me that crap," Steve warns.

"Fine. You want to know why?" Tony strides forward close enough to meet Steve glare-for-glare without forcing himself to crane his neck. "You would've screwed everything up while throwing a fit in an effort for some half-baked rescue mission. In the process, you'd ruin your credibility and Sam's, at the very least, and could've jeopardized the rest of us. That's not even taking into account what could end up happening to Barnes!"

"They're caging him up like an animal!" Steve snaps. He jabs a finger in the direction of the monitors on the wall behind Tony. "Don't tell me you have no sway in this. You're complicit! _Look_ at him!"

Tony curls his hands into fists when he feels his fingers begin to tremble. He clenches his jaw and turns around partway to look. James is seated inside the specialized chamber, now. His wrists and ankles are shackled with wide bands of metal. The guards in charge of securing him reach for another band and secure it around James' chest. Tony feels nauseous as his gaze locks on James — pale, expression shuttered, posture rigidly straight. The guards step out of the chamber and secure the door. Tony can't see Vision or Natasha, and he wonders if they have been forced to back off.

"I thought you'd convinced them that Bucky didn't do any of this." Steve's tone is strained with emotion. "Why are they doing this? Can't you tell them to stop?"

Tony closes his eyes as Steve's fear breaks through the anger. "I don't have that kind of power, Steve," Tony answers wearily. He reopens his eyes and makes himself turn away from the monitors. "No one here works for me. I'm here on invite, a consultant, and at this point I'm damn lucky that they're letting me be as involved as I am." He stares pointedly at the blond, willing him to understand the unspoken, _No thanks to you._ Politics are a delicate balance of power dynamics; while Tony knows he has to be careful in showing his affiliations, Steve seems convinced that any deviation from the Avengers is tantamount to betrayal.

"He's not safe here," Steve protests, shoulders hunching. The angry blaze of earlier seems to have settled, lowering to a simmer in the tense lines of his expression, mixing with worry and frustration.

"He wasn't exactly safe 'out there,' either," Tony counters. He sighs heavily. "Look, Vision and Natasha were able to be there when he was brought in. Barnes is here now, the task force knows the Vienna footage is inaccurate, _we're_ here, and Friday has eyes on him."

"It's not enough. You know this place isn't secure," Steve mutters. Tony can't argue that when he agrees, but they have to work with what they have.

He decides to extend a peace offering, "I already have calls in to some lawyers." He isn't sure how to feel when Steve's eyes widen in obvious shock. Tony slides his gaze to the side, staring at a random point over Steve's shoulder. "We're in a gray area. Given the situation, they aren't able to just block the task force from _asking_ some questions. Ross' insistence on a preliminary evaluation doesn't seem unreasonable, so that's proceeding."

Steve shakes his head slowly. "Why didn't you say that before?"

Tony shrugs lightly. "Maybe I thought you wouldn't need bribery to trust me," he says with a tight smile. Steve looks conflicted. "So, this is where things stand. We keep digging, with the additional complication of Barnes in custody."

For long moments, Steve doesn't say anything. When he finally indicates his acknowledgment, he does so with a silent nod. His eyes drift to the monitors again, and Tony resists the urge to release a shaky sigh. 

Friday's voice breaks the silence. "Boss? The Deputy Commander is requesting your presence in his office."

Tony doesn't mask his grimace at the news. He's betting that both Rosses are there. He glances sidelong at Steve, whose stare is still fixed on the security feed. Tony turns toward the door and says over his shoulder, "Watch him if you need to, but stay here."

He waits to leave until he hears Steve's quiet _"Alright."_

Tony knows that his mask of cool calm is in place as he walks down the hall, even though his mind is holding onto the image of James strapped in that chair, locked in that chamber. He has to shove down a little voice of niggling doubt that wonders if Steve's desire to break James free is such a bad idea.

~ * ~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo! So here's my current plan: Posting this chapter today and I'm setting up the next one into drafts so that I can post early next week. I'm headed outta town and leaving my computer behind while packing light. I don't have a complete Ch. 8 yet, so we're catching up to what I've got typed out. I'm hoping that falling back on some handwritten work at the airport/on plane may churn up progress. >_>


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd action!

James does his best to keep from grinding his teeth together. He can't quite manage to unlock his jaw, though. Tension runs through his entire body. He alternates flexing his hands and feet, always small movements that he keeps brief. He feels the edge of the metal band across his chest with every breath he takes. His breathing still sounds too loud, no matter how slow or quiet he tries to be. He hears the subtle electronic hum of cameras in each corner of the room outside his little clear-walled box. He wonders who all is watching. He wonders how many viewers might be Hydra agents. He reminds himself that Friday is out there, a constant presence even if his allies are preoccupied. 

There are two guards posted beside the door in the room. They stand silently at attention and haven't tried to engage him. They've been standing there since James was strapped into place. It's been twenty minutes since anyone spoke; the last had been the task force commander during a brief rundown of the upcoming proceedings. James should answer their questions, he'd said; answering now would move things along. There are lawyers coming to represent him, and he has the option of silence. However, If James is innocent, why not speak up? A psychologist is coming to conduct a preliminary evaluation of his mental status.

James' fingers flex against the chair's arms. It doesn't escape his notice that even that tiny movement attracts one of the guards' attention. They aren't slackers. James wishes there was a way for him to know where their allegiance lies. He isn't particularly optimistic.

He's been sitting in silence for just under thirty minutes when the door finally opens. James zeroes in on the man who follows after yet another guard. He doesn't see sign of Vision or Black Widow in the hallway, which makes him uneasy. He had hoped that they were still nearby. 

The new guard gestures to the waiting table and chair set before James' chamber and introduces, "Dr. Broussard, this is James Barnes."

A sarcastic voice mutters in the back of his mind, _"Charmed, I'm sure."_

"Good day, Sergeant Barnes," the doctor greets blandly. He pushes his thinly framed glasses up his nose as he sets his files on the table. He glances over his shoulder at the guards. "Your presence will hinder my efforts, gentlemen," he says.

"I'm afraid I must insist that at least these two stay," the new guard says. "I will wait outside, if that is your wish." The doctor inclines his head in acknowledgment. The guard nods shortly before exiting. The door shuts behind him with a solid thud and a lock engages.

James examines the doctor before him while the man is half turned away. Broussard's hair is dark brown at the roots and fades to a dull gray. It should be from age, certainly that's what is intended, but the effect doesn't look right. James tenses the muscles in his forearm, subtly testing the restraints again. His breathing remains steady despite the growing sense of apprehension.

"Let us begin," the doctor says as he pulls out the chair and sits down. He flips open his notebook and fiddles with his glasses again while shifting his file folder in front of him. "So, you are Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes." When James doesn't respond, Broussard looks up. His lips quirk up on one side, a flash of amusement crossing his expression. "Is that correct?"

"Yes," James answers curtly. He stares at the doctor. That the man doesn't look away sets off another fissure of unease.

"Ah, good." The doctor plucks a pen from his pocket and scribbles a short note on the top of his page. "You were seen in Vienna with a vehicle that was filled with explosives. Then the meeting of the United Nations was bombed."

James can't make out what the man is writing — the upside-down scrawl is too hard to decipher from his angle. "That wasn't me."

"Do you have a suggestion for another explanation?"

"I wasn't aware of the events until it showed up on the news," James says.

The doctor glances over his glasses. There's a sharpness in his eyes, a dangerous glint that makes James want to demand answers. His fingers clench, and the other men in the room all glance at his hands.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Broussard asks. He doesn't seem to expect an answer since he looks back to his notebook and continues, "I apologize for the accommodations. This is why I am here, you see. While you surrendered yourself and came in peacefully, you have something of a history that is concerning. The Winter Soldier, I believe you are called?"

James feels the muscle along his jaw jump as he grits his teeth. 

"Sergeant Barnes?" the doctor prompts. He frowns as he straightens up in his chair and folds his hands in front of him. "You will only prolong our time together, the longer you remain silent."

"Ain't I got the right to remain silent?" James retorts.

"That is what they say in America before an arrest, isn't it?" the doctor muses. His close-lipped smile is bland and cold. "You say you did not cause the explosion, so you do not need to fear incriminating yourself. Although..." Broussard takes off his glasses and pulls a kerchief from his pocket to begin polishing the lenses. His gaze focuses on his motions, but his posture is carefully calculated, too staged to be casual. "Is it other crimes that concern you?"

James doesn't answer.

"You fear that if you open your mouth and speak—" the doctor drops his cloth and holds his glasses up to the light "—that the horrors will spill out. It will all become inexorably real." James' eyes narrow at the subtle taunt in the man's tone. Broussard lowers his glasses to the table and locks his gaze on James. "But these are things we can't ignore, Sergeant Barnes."

James has a handful of seconds to take in the blaze of dark emotion in Broussard's eyes before the power abruptly cuts out. No one lets out a sound of surprise. Darkness consumes the room, the buzz of electronics fall silent, and the air circulation shuts down. He immediately starts working against his restraints.

"We have things to discuss, _Soldat_ ," Broussard says in the darkness. A flashlight clicks on to reveal the doctor standing in front of the table, light in one hand and some sort of book in the other. The two guards are away from the wall and turned towards the door, guns raised.

"Who the hell are you?" James demands. He needs every second he can get.

"No one you would know," the other man dismisses coldly. He thumbs open the book he's holding, and James can finally see the red cover and its embossed black star.

_No._

Fear slices through him, cold and sharp. He's shocked enough that he momentarily stops his movements. As the first syllable falls from Broussard's lips, James resumes his struggle in earnest.

"Желание."

James' heart lurches in his chest. He twists his left arm sharply, yanks and pushes.

"Ржaвый."

Denials echo in his head. He doesn't really know the words, he only knows that they're dangerous and mean no escape. He wrenches his left arm free of the shackle with a discordant scrape of metal on metal.

"Семнадцать."

"Stop!" he yells as he grabs for the shackle holding his other arm.

"Рассвет. Печь. Девять."

James throws his weight against the chest binding and rips through his restraints. His vision is getting hazy as he lunges from his chair.

"Добросердечный."

He steadies himself against vertigo and lines up his punch. James slams his left fist against the clear wall of his prison again and again, wearing at the same spot.

"Возвращение на родину."

His lungs burn with cold. The fissures appearing beneath his fist make him think of cracks breaking through thin ice.

"Один."

His fist slams through suddenly, and the momentum carries him forward. If feels like he's falling through the ice. Freezing water drags him under, and he chokes for air.

"Грузовой вагон."

He pulls his arm free and straightens up. His gaze darts quickly over the armed men by the door, their attention focused there. The man in front of him stares at him with narrowed eyes. 

"Я готов отвечать," he acknowledges. He flexes his fingers and rotates his wrist, noting the discomfort of strained muscles and tendons.

The handler's eyes appear to glow red briefly. He speaks a greeting in Russian but quickly switches to German. "I have need of your comrades."

The handler elicits the information he requires, then proceeds to lay out the Soldier's mission. 

~ * ~ * ~

Tony stands next to Everett Ross as they observe the evaluation from his office. Secretary Ross had commandeered the surveillance room, so Tony is grateful to be spared his presence. 

Vision had been making his way toward the conference room when Tony passed him in the hall earlier. Natasha's lingering near the surveillance room to keep an eye on the Secretary. She and Vision had been dismissed from the entire section where the task force took James.

A lack of Thunderbolt Ross doesn't set Tony at ease. From the moment the doctor peered over his glasses at James, Tony has felt unsettled. He crosses his arms and tucks his hands against the crooks of his elbows to keep from fidgeting. Everett frowns thoughtfully as he watches the video feed.

James' expression is an impassive mask, and Tony wonders what he's thinking. If James realizes something is wrong, he'll signal Friday, right? 

"You fear that if you open your mouth and speak—" the doctor pauses dramatically, and Tony reaches for his phone "—that the horrors will spill out. It will all become inexorably real."

"Friday, get Nat and Viz down there _now_ ," he snaps, ignoring Everett's inquisitive look.

"But these are things we can't ignore, Sergeant Barnes."

The room plunges into darkness as the power cuts out. Tony spits out a curse and spins toward the door. Faint emergency lights begin to glow along the floor to mark exit routes.

"Stark?" Everett demands.

"I'm headed down!"

"Fine. I need eyes on them."

Tony dashes down the hall. It isn't long before Natasha joins him and takes over navigating the dim corridors.

"Generators should be up by now," she notes.

"Ya think?" Tony retorts sarcastically. "Fri?"

"It appears that the power station is down, shutting off the power grid to the entire area it serves, Boss. The emergency generators are recorded as up to code in a recent evaluation; someone is preventing the reboot of power."

Natasha wraps her fingers loosely around Tony's wrist as she leads them into a stairwell and tugs him downward. "Steve will be headed straight for Barnes. Sam's along for that ride."

"Vision is accompanying them," Friday contributes.

Tony shakes his head. "It's goin' to be too late. Whoever this is, they want Barnes out of here."

"And that's why we're headed in another direction," Natasha agrees.

When they push through the doorway into the atrium connecting the building wings, Tony has to squint his eyes shut against the assault of light. 

Natasha marches out into the atrium, aiming for the opposite side. "Where's the suit?" she asks.

"Should I take that to imply you don't approve of the Tom Ford three-piece?" he quips.

"Tony," she snaps, briefly glaring over her shoulder.

"Friday?" he prompts as he reaches for his watch and activates the new model of independent gauntlet.

The AI doesn't have a chance to answer before they see a lone figure stalking up the stairs with all the ease and presence of a wild predator. A primal sense of fear shoots down Tony's spine. He recognizes James' face, but the blank hardness is nothing familiar. Tony hesitates behind Natasha, and she slides in front of him as James' — the Winter Soldier's? — gaze catches on them. 

"Get the suit," Natasha hisses before she sprints forward. Just out of arm's reach, she drops low with a kick. The Winter Soldier dodges it easily, but Natasha is already rolling forward into a hand-stand to launch herself up. Her legs wrap around his metal arm and by throwing her weight, she manages to stagger him off-balance.

Tony darts for cover behind one of the pillars lining the atrium and asks Friday. "Any news on the generators?"

"Still can't tap back into any systems, Boss. The suit's on its way."

He hears a crash and pokes his head out to see the Winter Soldier slam Natasha into a table. It cracks in half, and she falls to the floor.

"ASAP!" Tony barks at Friday as he charges out, gauntlet raised and warming up.

The Soldier slams his foot down on Natasha's thigh, and though Tony doesn't hear the snap, he does hear her choked-off gasp of pain.

"Hey!" he shouts, hoping to draw James' attention even for a moment, keep Natasha from further harm while Tony gets the repulsor—

He barely has time to brace himself as the charge releases and a short burst fires off from the repulsor. He hits the metal arm, which does little more than jostle the Soldier, but it does catch his attention. Tony realizes he should probably back up, but instead he plants himself in place, feet firm, knees bent, shoulders as relaxed as he can manage given the situation. James' gaze fixes on Tony. His eyes are flat, and Tony is hauntingly reminded of the dead eyes he's seen staring up at him in his nightmares. He finds himself searching for a hint of the man he knows, some crack in the mask that has descended and swallowed James whole.

Tony barely has enough time to intercept the attack that comes. He dodges the Soldier's first swing with reflexes alone. Their fight is quick, a rapid flurry of the Winter Soldier's fists and Tony miraculously blocking (thank god for Happy and Natasha). He registers the appearance of a handgun almost as an afterthought but manages to get his gauntlet up and over the barrel. He feels the retort of the gun and hears the bullet crack the casing over the repulsor. His lips part in a smile of stunned disbelief. The moment of relief disappears as soon as he lifts his gaze to the Soldier's rigid expression. Tony doesn't duck in time to miss the next punch. Fortunately for him, it's flesh and bone knuckles that slam into his cheek. Training drilled into him over the years leads him into moving with the force. He releases the gun and it clatters to the floor as he's knocked off his feet and readies himself for impact with the tile.

His thoughts aren't very clear for a while. His ears seem to ring and his vision is spotty. When he finally convinces himself to move, he braces himself on one elbow as he spits blood out of his mouth. He looks up and sees a woman go flying through the air, long blond hair streaming behind her before she smacks into a pillar. The Winter Soldier dismisses her in the following moments as it becomes clear she isn't getting up. He notices Tony, though, and takes a step in his direction. Tony firmly tells his body to get with the program because he has a deadly assassin heading his way, and he's currently stuck with only a damaged repulsor to defend himself.

"Fri..." he rasps nervously.

A man drops from the balcony above. The fight that starts moves so fast that it takes a bit for Tony to identify T'challa. Nothing he'd seen previously suggested that the prince is enhanced, but his movements are impossibly fast and he's holding his own better against the Winter Soldier than Tony has seen anyone do except Steve. 

T'challa manages to drive the Soldier back, and with the area clear enough for Tony to get up, he stands. He ignores his body's aches and protests as he hurries over to the fallen blonde. Belatedly he recognizes Sharon Carter. His breath catches in his throat as he leans over to check on her. She's unconscious but breathing, and her pulse is strong when he finds it.

When he straightens up, he realizes that T'challa and the Soldier are all the way across the atrium. The Soldier kicks his leg up and lands a firm blow against T'challa's chest. The prince is knocked off his feet and into the air. Although he twists into a graceful landing, it's enough time for the Soldier to disappear into the stairwell.

"Don't let him leave!" Tony shouts. T'challa is already taking off with no acknowledgment. "Frid—"

"Incoming," she cuts him off. Sure enough, a heartbeat later, a window shatters and the Iron Man armor sweeps through.

"Tony," Natasha calls for him. She's managed to pull herself into a sitting position by holding onto a toppled chair. Her face is pale and strained — he does _not_ like the red streaks he can see on the tile beneath her leg. "Helicopter's the fasted way out with the least resistance." She watches him as he steps into the armor. "He's going to go through anything in his way," she warns. "Don't hesitate."

A quip weighs on his tongue, but her sharp gaze feels like she can see through him, so he says nothing. The faceplate locks into place and then he's launching back out the windows and sweeping for the landing pad. T'challa might be able to slow down the Winter Soldier, but Natasha's words are true, and Tony's seen the footage — nothing is going to keep the Soldier from his objective. DC had been an anomaly, a surprising twist of fate and luck wherein a bromance for the ages provided enough confusion for hesitation and a crack to form in the Winter Soldier's conditioning.

A quiet voice in the back of Tony's mind murmurs pleas for another stroke of luck.

He swoops above the landing pad in time to see the rotors of a waiting helicopter start spinning. The stairwell door slams open and Steve spills onto the rooftop. He's a mess, the right side of his shirt and his hand covered in blood. Despite that, he sprints for the helicopter.

"Stay back, Steve!" Tony broadcasts as the helicopter lifts off and the blond shows no sign of stopping. It doesn't look like Steve gives a damn about the warning. Tony momentarily adjusts his trajectory to loop his arms around the idiot's chest and pull him back towards the door.

"Damn it, Tony! He's not in his right mind!" Steve snaps and claws at the metal arms around him. His bloody hand slips and fumbles over the armor.

"Yeah, I know, Captain Obvious. Now _stay put_ , and I can get him down without worrying about squashing you!" Tony lets go and shoves Steve back for good measure. He twists around sharply and stretches his arms out as he aims for the chopper's landing skids.

Friday throws up a display of the helicopter's stats to the side of his HUD. Tony clamps his hands around the skids and flips his body so that the boot thrusters can push against the chopper's upward momentum. The chopper dips awkwardly, unbalanced as Tony grasps one side and the rotors keep on spinning. The chopper jerks violently and spirals, dragging Tony along with little effort. They reel farther away from the task force headquarters, out over the river.

"Fri, options?" Tony demands.

"I believe you have a better chance of removing Sergeant Barnes from the vehicle, Boss," she responds, though there is a note to her tone that suggests she doesn't fully approve. "However, the helicopter unmanned will cause property damage and possible casualties due to the current location."

"And we still don't know how to snap him out of it," Tony mutters. He heaves a sigh as he sends an extra boost of power to the thrusters, causing the chopper to dip sharper on his side. "Here goes nothing."

He abruptly lets go and curves beneath the chopper to pop up on the door-free side. The Soldier holds tight to the controls even as he turns his head sharply to glare. Tony shoves himself into the cockpit, pushing the Soldier inward and hitting the control panel. The chopper stutters, and levers snap under the armor's forceful entry. Above them the rotors groan and sputter to a stop. The chopper plummets out of the sky but before Tony can pull James and himself out, the Soldier wraps his metal arm around Tony's neck. They're still grappling when the chopper tips sideways and they hit the river. The armor jars around Tony as he's stuck at the impact point between water and machine. The Soldier stops for a moment as they sink below the surface. He recovers quickly and starts clawing for Tony's faceplate.

"Boss!" Friday cries.

Tony panics at the first creak close to his face and the splash of water seeping in through the seams. "Fuck!" Instinctively he raises his gauntlets; he feels Friday take some control, guiding his arms so that he's aiming far too close at James' head. The repulsors vibrate with power, and he shouts, "No!" Friday flashes him the information, promising low impact calculated to disable; a moment later the gauntlets fire. The Soldier jerks back, his organic arm suddenly lax and floating in the water.

"Come on, Boss!"

Tony scrambles to grab hold of his senses and pulls himself together enough to move. He tucks one arm around James' waist and uses his other hand to navigate out of the sinking chopper. They're already within a couple meters of the river bottom. He propels them away from the heavy machinery and shoots for the surface. His heart races in his chest and his pulse throbs against his throat. His thoughts jump from the feel of water against his cheek to James' dead-weight to the compromised task force. Friday has a course charted for him by the time he reaches the surface, and she guides him upriver towards an abandoned industrial plant.

"Tell me he's okay." Tony doesn't realize at first that he's spoken aloud.

"Pulse is strong, Boss. I recommend clearing his airways when you've landed." After a pause, Friday says quietly, "I'm sorry."

Tony doesn't reply, his fears still too near the surface. He concentrates on their destination and promises himself to keep it together. He can't fall apart now.

~ * ~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Traveling as this post goes up, and this chapter basically catches us up to what I have written. The next scene, about 2.5k, is written as a rough draft. Updates will be slower now. >_> There's a bunch of things going on IRL.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I _still_ haven't learned my lesson about not starting to post until I finish writing. Sorry for the continued wait (and it will continue). I wanted to give you the scene I've been sitting on for months, though. Have ~2,500 of post-trigger scene redux!

It's simple instinct that keeps James still as he comes awake; he's probably not alone, and he should claim any advantage he can. He keeps his eyes closed and his breathing even. He's captured, he can tell, although it's not by conventional means. His left arm is trapped tightly in what must be a machine, given the feel of solid, cool metal he's leaning against. He's soaked, wet clothes sticking to his skin uncomfortably and his hair clumping against his cheeks.

He hears footsteps scuffing across a dirty floor before he hears familiar voices drawing closer.

"Tony..."

"Steve. Don't. There's shit to get done. This is—" Tony huffs out an exasperated breath. "It isn't important."

James hates the bitterness and hurt he hears underlying those words. 

"We're goin' to have the conversation," Steve warns.

A new voice interrupts, "But later, yeah? C'mon, Stark's right, there's a lot more on our plate right now."

One set of footsteps shifts forward, and James allows his eyes to crack open just enough to peer through his lashes at the now scuffed, once polished shoes.

"You with us, Manchurian Candidate?" Tony asks quietly. In the background, Steve sends the third man off to watch the area.

James blinks his eyes open and slowly lifts his head. His skull throbs, and it takes a minute to shrug off the dizziness. When he focuses on Tony's face, he sucks in a sharp breath as he gets a look at the swelling bruise that's blossoming under Tony's left eye.

"Buck?" Steve comes closer and crouches down on one knee. James stares at the blond's blood-covered arm and roughly wrapped shoulder. "You in there?" Steve's expression pinches with concern.

James can't find his voice right away. His gaze slowly sweeps between the two men, categorizing the evidence of injuries. Tony holds himself stiffly and seems to be supporting his left arm under the guise of crossing his arms. Steve is careful not to move his own injured arm much.

Tony squints down at him, lips turned down in a thoughtful frown. Gaze locked on the livid bruise, James starts, "Tony..." He's clumsy with apologies. Where is he even supposed to start?

"Bucky," Steve interrupts, moving into James' line of sight. "I need a sign here." He glances at the machine holding onto the metal arm and grimaces. "I'm so sorry."

James flicks his gaze to the machine, noting that an industrial vise is locking him into place. A reasonable option, he supposes, though he vaguely remembers ripping himself free of a chamber supposedly designed to hold people like him.

He shifts his stare to meet Steve's worried expression and offers, "You'd stuff newspapers in your shoes." Silence follows for a moment, then a smile appears on Steve's face and a barely-there laugh escapes Tony. The sound makes James' lips twitch up. If he doesn't look, he can enjoy the sound. Tony is okay, they're all okay, James didn't—

But glancing up makes James face the reality. He did that. He knows he must have.

"God, Buck," Steve breathes, his whole posture revealing his relief as he stands up to loosen the vise. "I'm really sorry about this. We didn't know what else to do when we had to improvise."

James shakes his head. He doesn't need any apologies.

He can't recall more than a cloudy vision of what led him here. There had been a man? A doctor, supposedly cleared to conduct an evaluation. Nothing had gone the way it should have. There had been words — bad words, cleansing words, _but they are poison, not a reprieve._

_Blank slate, a receptacle. Ready to comply, to obey. Not human, not even animal. A tool, an asset._

"What..." he starts before his throat closes up with rising dread. His arm comes free of the vise; he bends it towards his chest as he flexes his fingers and stares blankly at the moving plates. There is no blood there and none on his other hand. That doesn't necessarily mean he's in the clear.

"Mostly inanimate objects damaged," Tony says.

James looks up, stare resting on Steve's arm for a few moments before pointedly rising to Tony's face. He doesn't say anything even though Tony shifts uncomfortably.

"Hey, it wasn't you," Steve assures, lightly resting a hand on James' shoulder. He frowns in obvious disappointment when James glares at him. "We know it wasn't you."

"And I suppose those bruises aren't gonna fit my knuckles?" he mutters, jerking his chin up to indicate Tony's face. His fingers clench reflexively against his thigh.

Tony sighs audibly. "Capsicle's right on this. Fri's looking through what she can from before the power cut off. The good doctor—" he spits the words "—triggered something." James reluctantly raises his gaze when Tony stiffly bends closer. The bruise on his cheek is ugly, swelling quickly and impairing his ability to open his eye. "You looked right at me, and it was like no one was there." Tony tries to hide it, but James can tell he's unnerved by the experience. James isn't able to contain the shudder at those words. Cold. Empty. _A tool, the Asset._

Steve's hand squeezes his shoulder gently in an attempt at comfort. "Just some scrapes and bruises, Buck. We're gonna be fine."

"What else did I do?" he mutters. _Who else did I hurt?_ He doesn't want to think of possible fatalities.

"You were going somewhere," Steve answers.

"What?"

"Hijacked a helo, but Tony brought it down and got you here."

"Anything you can recall will help," Tony says. 

James shakes his head apologetically. "Nothing. Just..." Cold. Absence. The scratch of a skipping record. "Желание..." he whispers. James squeezes his eyes shut and curls over his knees. _Words slithering like drugs through his veins. Words jolting through his system like electricity. Words sneaking beneath his skin with every scrape and laceration._

"Longing?" Tony translates, tone concerned. 

His mouth tastes like blood and gun smoke.

"Bucky?" Steve's hand tightens around James' shoulder.

Tony's voice is suddenly much closer when he murmurs, "Hey, James. Need you here, buddy." He places his hand on James' head carefully.

James sucks in a deep breath before evening out his breathing. He keeps his arms pressed close to his stomach as he sits up. Tony moves his hand, gently stroking his palm over James' head, down his neck, and over his metal shoulder. When their eyes meet, the genius offers a small, crooked smile.

"You gonna be alright?" Steve asks quietly. His expression is pinched with worry.

The answer to that question is an obvious no, but James refrains from saying that aloud. Instead he braces himself to explain what little he does understand. His voice comes out unexpectedly rough when he speaks; "He had the book." He presses on before anyone voices the obvious question. "It's for— There were words." He presses his arms tight against his body, wishes he could make them disappear now that he realizes what must have happened. "It was a failsafe, in case there was resistance," he confesses quietly.

"Oh Buck..." Steve murmurs.

"Trigger words?" Tony confirms. James nods tightly without meeting his gaze. "Who knew them?"

James shrugs, feeling useless. He doesn't remember the faces, doesn't even know the sequence of words. He remembers the first few and how it has always felt to start slipping away. He shudders involuntarily. "The book. Sometimes they needed it."

"And our so-called doctor had it." The words come out almost like a growl. Despite his tone, Tony's hand is gentle when he touches James' knee. "Was he familiar at all?" James shakes his head and wishes he had something to offer. "Hey, it's okay. Friday's gonna find this creep."

The man from earlier appears in the doorway, looking between the crouched men. "So, what's the verdict?" he asks.

"Bucky, this is Sam Wilson. He's—"

"The one whose car you wrecked in DC," Sam finishes blandly. He arches an eyebrow at James' non-reaction. "What, not even an apology?"

"Sam..." Steve warns.

Sam cracks a smile and dismisses Steve with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Upgraded it anyway. Just a pain in the ass when insurance doesn't account for damage caused by determined assassin punching through the roof."

James squints suspiciously, not entirely sure if the guy's exaggerating. He doesn't exactly have the details clear from DC. Sam notices the confusion and huffs a disbelieving laugh. "Dude, I ain't kidding."

Tony shakes his head as he stands up. "Yeah, okay, can that little trip down memory lane be postponed?"

"Sorry. So... what's next?" Sam asks. He eyes Steve's bloody arm. "I mean, besides finding a better way to take care of that. Geez, Cap, I didn't mean for that to be more than temporary."

Steve shrugs with both shoulders, obviously trying to downplay the damage as he maintains a stoic expression. "I'm fine. It'll keep. We have other things to worry about."

"But no clear leads yet," Tony counters. He mirrors Sam's unimpressed expression. "We've got time for that to get a proper look-over and wrap."

"Where?" Steve sighs, frustrated. "You _know_ there's goin' to be eyes on me when I stick my head out. I'm not putting Bucky at risk like that."

Tony paces away, frowning thoughtfully. Sam moves farther into the room and stands beside Steve. "Hold still," he orders before reaching for the edge of the bandage. The blond grimaces while Sam starts pulling aside the wrap to get a look. James watches silently and curls over his arms pressed against his stomach. He did that to Steve, made him bleed.

"You're not safe back there," Tony says into the silence. Everyone looks at him. Tony has stopped his pacing and stands with his arms folded over his chest. "None of you are," he adds with a frown. His eyes linger on James. "The task force is compromised to an unknown extent. Natasha's down. We shouldn't trust our good ol' Secretary. Friday's been locked out of the building's systems. Whatever is lurking in there is on the offensive now."

"Do we know what it is yet?"

"Besides an advanced artificial intelligence? No." The words come out through gritted teeth. Tony grimaces and turns his face away from them. "I don't want Friday poking it too much."

"Then we focus elsewhere," Steve determines.

Tony sighs heavily at that. He rubs a palm over the uninjured side of his face. "Easier said than done, unfortunately. That thing's been misdirecting Friday, and now it's blocking internal data that we could really use about now."

"You're not giving up?" Sam says skeptically.

"Hell, no. But I'm finding it hard to be optimistic right now."

James closes his eyes and starts to tune the others out. _He_ is their best lead, he knows. If he could identify the man, or at least what was said, then they could do more than simply wait for the other shoe to drop.

He reaches for the memory of his capture. He latches onto the clearest image: the doctor sitting at his table, pen to paper, as he peered over his glasses at James. In the freeze-frame image of his memory, James realizes that the doctor had flashed a sly little smile. James examines the man again and again, searching for familiarity or a signature mark that might identify him. But he appears only in recollections of today, there is no sense of recognition. 

Only the book sparks memory, pulling painfully at his mind, greedily yanking him into the void, isolating and freezing him as sure as the cryo chamber had done. Gun powder and blood seemed to fill his nostrils every time he resurfaced from the emptiness. Most of the time he was too numb to do anything but follow where he was led. If he stumbled or choked on bile that felt like ice water, _they_ would drag him to the chair. Recalibration, pain and electricity through his system — at least it wasn't cold.

They didn't always use the book. The handlers murmured about the limitations of their assets when programmed so single-mindedly, the lack of adaptability of their tools. Asset _s_ and tool _s_. 

The Asset stood in the middle of a room, surrounded by thick metal bars wrapped in electric wire that would kill a baseline human. Within the confines of the caged arena, other men and women prowled around him, watching and evaluating. He could feel the way their eyes tried to dissect him, to search for cracks in the Asset. They waited and silently taunted him to make the first move. They were the so-called elite, supposedly his successors. They all wore the tools of their trade, knives and garrotes and guns loaded with real bullets despite the scene being a trial. The Asset had his own assembly of tools, though he had no plans to use them. The way that the others moved suggested that they would not use their tools, either. There was no need: They were all the real weapons.

The faint scuff of a boot sole behind him triggered the Asset into action. He dropped into a crouch with one leg already extended to sweep behind the knees of his second attacker; the first used his momentum to flip over the Asset. The fight had begun, and beyond the barrier of bars, he could hear the murmurs of the handlers picking apart the techniques at play. _The others needed more training. Could the Asset handle that role? What was it that set the Asset so far apart from the others?_

"—uck? You with me?"

James jerks away from the hand grabbing his shoulder. He recognizes the voice just in time to stop himself from reaching out and breaking Steve's wrist.

Wide blue eyes stare at him with worry. "We're in Berlin, it's 2016. You remember? You're with me and Tony and—"

"There's more," James interrupts. He suddenly realizes that he's heaving in deep gulps of air and his heart is beating heavy enough to make his chest ache. He's not the only one.

"Uh, what?" Sam asks warily.

James struggles to get himself under control, ease his breathing and slow the furious pounding of his heart.

"Take a minute, James," Tony says quietly. He slowly lowers himself into a crouch, his movements slow and stilted. James focuses on the other man, letting his mind categorize Tony's injuries instead of drifting back to that nightmare from the past. Tony ducks his head a little to force eye contact. "There you are, handsome."

James drags his fingers through his hair as his body settles back to normal. He can't make himself look away from Tony's captivating gaze, which simultaneously grounds him and beckons him to get lost in that gaze.

"What do you mean, Bucky?" Steve asks, sounding calm in the wake of his earlier concern. His hand hovers near James' knee momentarily, obviously wishing to reach out although he's unsure of his welcome.

With a slow blink, James straightens up from his curled-up position. He looks over the trio around him and takes a moment to remind himself of their present surroundings. The details of his memory are already becoming fuzzy around the edges, but he thinks he remembers enough.

"I was the first," James admits. "But there were more. There _are_ more Assets." His stare locks on Tony, who looks eerily pale around his swelling bruise. "They expanded the Winter Soldier program."

~ * ~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still all I have. In short, IRL changes have been major and continue to be a trial. Also, I got sidetracked with other fandoms reading and haven't gotten any words to paper or screen since June.
> 
> I can't promise when updates will happen, but I hope this is less of a cliff-hanger.

**Author's Note:**

> A little interesting reading about the game [Red Rover](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Rover)... for no reason.


End file.
